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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085834">Dreamers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobika/pseuds/Bobika'>Bobika</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Adult Harry, BAMF Harry, Erebor, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Harry creates waves, Master of Death Harry Potter, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:28:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085834</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobika/pseuds/Bobika</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It took Harry one slightly more successful assassination attempt to realise she was immortal.<br/>It took Luna one question to persuade Harry to help with an old research.<br/>It took the dwarves of Erebor one meeting with an Easterling thief to change the course of history. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>A competent fem!Harry travels to Middle-earth crossover, spanning from the reclamation of Erebor to the end of the Third Age.</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bard the Bowman/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>721</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Whirlwind: Kíli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to this new adventure of mine! </p><p><strong>As always</strong>, I'm attempting to write an adult and competent Harry.</p><p><strong>For the first time</strong>, I'm writing a fem!Harry. Mainly because I felt like weaving a story from a female perspective for once.</p><p><strong>Adventure</strong> is the main genre, then a bit of drama. Only lastly, some romance.</p><p><strong>As is my habit</strong>, I'm throwing you in at the deep end, sprinkling hints as we go and only slowly uncovering the layers of the story, one chapter at a time. I invite you to read attentively and enjoy the path to discovery.</p><p>Oh, one more sin to confess before I can let you in: the first part of the story (some 35k words) follows the Hobbit <em>film</em> storyline, with all of P. Jackson's embellishments and even the transgressions. I needed you to have the visuals, and the fast pace for Harry's rather turbulent entrance. I'll get back to my senses soon afterwards, I promise.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There wasn't much one could observe whilst rushing on slippery walkways and avoiding guards, but Kíli still managed.</p><p>He had long learnt what to expect from settlements of Men and in many ways, Lake-town had not surprised. It had still greeted him with the smell of an absent sewer system, persistent even through the load of fish piled upon Kíli's head in the barrel he'd entered the city in. The architecture was as haphazard as any settlement lacking the careful planning of dwarven builders. Lanterns, not lamps, hang only one swing away from spreading their flames to the wooden houses.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>There were inconsistencies among the rotting buildings–stones and pillars carved with dwarven touch for esthetics. Properly forged oil lamps broke the stride of the hazardous lanterns. Tapestries weaved with the patience of long-lived craftsmen hung above the water, molding from the bottom.</p><p>This was a decaying town that was built on something greater, something its current citizens were too ignorant to remember and treasure.</p><p>Five minutes in, and the town was already putting Kíli into a foul mood. Though, if he weren't currently adamant on ignoring the arrow wound in his thigh, he'd admit the insistent throbbing might also sour his humour.</p><p>Dwalin, who he'd been following up until now, abruptly stopped, and Kíli only narrowly avoided crashing into his back. He quickly grabbed for the wooden pole on his left, knowing what was coming next─and indeed, a beat later, Fili did bump into Kíli, nearly toppling them both into the ice-littered water next to the narrow pathway.</p><p>His balance restored, Kíli looked over Dwalin's shoulder, searching for the cause of the sudden halt. Up ahead, the bargeman–<em>Bard</em>, as Bilbo'd informed them–stood in the middle of the pathway, his back stiff as a board.</p><p>"My house's being watched," he hissed, face half turned back at them whilst his eyes stayed focused up ahead.</p><p>Kíli cursed under his breath, already tired of this chase through the town. Beside the sharp burning in his right leg, he was perfectly aware of how spectacularly their group of thirteen dwarrows and one hobbit was failing at staying inconspicuous in the town of Men. He'd liked to find a cover soon, thank you very much.</p><p>Before anyone could make any suggestions, a kid rushed at their guide. "Da-"</p><p>Bard hushed the boy and grabbed his forearm to drag him fully around the corner. He looked at the kid's face–his son, Kíli surmised–and stood frozen for a moment, and then another. Just when Kíli saw Dwalin and Thorin exchanging an impatient glare, the bargeman finally moved–he nodded at the boy, the gesture short and decisive. "Go back home and tell your sisters I'll be awhile still. If anything happens, we'll be at Harry's."</p><p>"<em>We</em>?" the boy repeated, glancing around his father's shoulders, his eyes widening upon finding the group of dwarrows there. "Da, what's going on?"</p><p>"I'll explain later. Now, go."</p><p>"Who's this Harry?" Uncle asked the moment the boy rushed away.</p><p>"A friend. Let's go. We've pushed our luck on these streets for long enough."</p><p>Uncle didn't move, though. "We're not paying anyone else for the services we've already bought from you."</p><p>"Well, Master Dwarf, my only other idea was to smuggle you inside my house through the toilet. We can still go that route, if you'd prefer."</p><p>Kíli grimaced upon hearing that, glancing at his uncle in alarm. Luckily, Thorin seemed equally unexcited about that plan. In front of him, Kíli felt Dwalin's back shake with a growl.</p><p>"Or, you can try to believe I'm a man of my word," the bargeman continued. "If my friend charges anything for his help, the debt will stay between me and him."</p><p>Four minutes and several streets later, they arrived almost at the northern edge of the town, if Kíli's sense of direction didn't get confused in their mad rush through the maze of streets. Bard stopped in front of a house as shabby looking as all the rest they'd passed that day. He climbed the stairs to its front door two at a time and knocked loudly.</p><p>A few moments passed without a sound from the other side. Kíli shuffled his feet, keenly aware of the stares they kept gathering, stood high up on the first floor landing as they were, like waterlogged dummies lined for target practise.</p><p>Bard knocked again but waited only for a short moment before his patience seemed to have found its end.</p><p>"Oh, curse this," he swore and proceeded to drive his shoulder into the door. It burst open already on the second shove, the rotting wood around the latch readily giving in. The dwarrows were quick to pile inside after the bargeman, finally leaving the streets and the Men's stares behind.</p><p>Kíli quickly scanned the place they'd just entered–large room, no exits but a staircase, surplus of light, no dark corners and hopefully no occupants hiding in them, either–and turned back to the door, not willing to let Bard out of his sight for too long.</p><p>The bargeman shut the door behind Ori. He kept it closed with his shoulder, guiltily pawing at the broken lock.</p><p>"Let me," Bofur grumbled, a plank of wood he'd pilfered from who knows where already in hand. It would suffice to patch up the door frame. Bombur and Bifur stood by his side and Kíli felt it safe to leave Bard to their guard. Instead, he turned back to the room to explore at large.</p><p>He was surprised to find himself in a workshop. For some reason, he'd assumed Bard had led them into someone's home. This cluttered space obviously served for work instead, but for what craft, Kíli couldn't tell. A tinkerer, maybe? There were certainly enough miniature tools, and parts of origins Kíli couldn't even attempt to guess at. A small forge with the basics of smithing tools supported the idea. But their host might as well be a healer, with the amount of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, their combined fragrance driving even the smell of streets and fish oil away.</p><p>But then, he noticed a rack with drying dishes amongst a pile of flower pots, and a teapot sitting by the forge. A desk littered with parchment stood basking in the light from the windows, a bench piled upon with pelts and blankets lining the walls of the alcove. This <em>was </em>a home after all, and their host lived among the clutter.</p><p>Nori and Dori had gone up the stairs, to check the upper rooms. Gloin and Ori had disappeared to the floor beneath. Kíli crossed the room to check the windows. Back at the door, Uncle returned to questioning Bard.</p><p>"Are you in a habit of breaking into all your <em>friends' </em>houses?"</p><p>Kíli understood Uncle's hesitance to trust the bargeman–he could be spinning any tales and they would hardly be able to tell. Judging by his tone though, the very edge of Uncle's animosity seemed to have been curbed. After all, Bard had just led them under the noses of half the town's guard and helped them knock out the ones they hadn't managed to avoid. It was obvious there was no love lost between the bargeman and the Master of the town. A sentiment shared by many of the men they'd met, if their unwillingness to help the guards was anything to go by.</p><p>However, there was no way to know whether a friendship with Bard would turn out more profitable than the friendship of the Master of the town. After all, it was Bard who'd claimed the Master would not look favourable at their stay in Lake-town.</p><p>"Would you rather I hadn't?" the bargeman replied. "We'd still be standing outside."</p><p>Kíli stopped by the windows. They offered a generous view of the open lake and its southern banks, away from the Lonely Mountain. So there were no walls surrounding the town. Instead, the outer houses must have served as the only line of fortification. Their host's windows were barred off, strong iron poles crossing the view so densely that not even a child could climb through.</p><p>He made to turn away, when he noticed the window's latch. It was open, although the wings themselves were shut. Guided by the intuition bred from many years of successful troublemaking ventures, he opened the windows, stuck his head out and had a closer look at the bars. And indeed, the very tops of the poles were not nailed to the walls but rested on tiny hinges instead. <em>Clever</em>.</p><p>He turned back to the room, searching for his brother. "Fili," he called under his breath. "Have a look. The bars open."</p><p>Fili joined him by the window, his eyebrows raising at the sight of the miniature hinges on the bars. Kíli could translate his brother's expression easily enough. <em>Yes, it could prove very useful later.</em> And when the second eyebrow joined the other a beat later, Kíli smirked at Fili's predictable thought. <em>And yes, it would have made their entry into the town that much smoother.</em></p><p>"Do you think Bard knows?" Fili asked in a whisper.</p><p>Kíli shook his head. "I don't think he'd let himself be seen strutting with us through half the town if he had a different choice."</p><p>Fili inclined his head. "He does have three bairns to think of."</p><p>"You promised us provisions. And weapons," Dwalin's growl carried to them from the front of the room.</p><p>"That I did. Once Harry comes home, I'll get on with that."</p><p>"What if your friend refuses to help us?" Balin asked.</p><p>Kíli turned around to see that the door frame had almost been patched. Bard was shaking his head at the dwarrows surrounding him. "Harry will help–maybe not you, but he won't refuse me his. Either way, I'm certain any convincing will go smoother if we don't abuse his hospitality before he arrives." His eyes glanced guiltily at the broken lock. "Well, no more than we already have."</p><p>Thorin exchanged an uneasy look with Balin. "We can't wait long. If your friend doesn't show soon, you'll have to think of a different plan."</p><p>"What of the weapons?" Dwalin asked. "We'd like to have those presently."</p><p>Bard frowned. "I could leave to fetch those right away. Or, I could stay and make sure I'm here to explain your situation when Harry arrives and finds out that fourteen dwarves broke into his house."</p><p>"It was hardly us who did any breaking!"</p><p>Bard nodded. "And I'm sure Harry will believe it slightly easier if I'm here to say so."</p><p>Dwalin grumbled in impatience, but held back at the truth of it.</p><p>With that, it was apparently decided they would wait for this Harry to return home. That left them all standing in empty silence, wet and smelling of fish, the rush of the chase not yet leaving their bodies but now with no way to spend it.</p><p>Unsurprisingly, it was their burglar who first broke under the awkwardness of the moment. "Master Bard," the hobbit stepped forward, "I'm the last person who would ever dream of imposing on their host uninvited."</p><p>Kíli let out a snicker when he recognised the obvious effort it took Bilbo not to shoot them all a glare at that. They all knew the Hobbit was still smarting from their first dinner, back at his home in the Shire.</p><p>"But even so, surely there are ways we could all get more comfortable whilst we wait, without straining your friend's home inordinately. We could perhaps stoke the fire? Heat up some water and attempt to wash? After all, I'd hate for your friend to come home to a house reeking of fish, as we currently do."</p><p>They hadn't met many decent people who could resist Bilbo's persuasive practicality. Bard proved to be no exception. "There shouldn't be any harm in a wash," he relented, albeit hesitantly. "He has this contraption that lets water shower onto you. Let me show you where he heats up the rainwater for it."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A short while later found them in much better spirits. An order for washing had been established, starting with some hot-blooded dwarrows who would brave the cold water before it had heated up enough for the gentle hobbit in their midst.</p><p>Waiting for his own turn, Kíli was quite content to sit by the fire, his leg propped up on a crate of strangely half-charred wood, letting the rest of his kin conduct a more thorough investigation of their current lodgings, as covertly as they could under the watchful eye of the bargeman.</p><p>Nori was walking along the perimeter of the room, seemingly admiring the tapestries and rugs hung skewed over any stretch of the wall, so densely that Kíli could almost forget they were staying inside a wooden trap of a building. The ridiculous amount of fabric kept the draft at bay, maybe even the ever present damp, making the warmth of the fire linger in the room much more pleasantly than what anyone could expect from a house built on water. Nori appeared to be studying the designs on the tapestries from up close, but Kíli saw the way his fingers kept tapping along the walls, his ears twitching in attention.</p><p>Dori was eyeing the kettle resting away from the fire, his gaze twitching at the herbs above. He must have found some leaves good for a cup of tea; Kíli knew it was only a matter of minutes before Dori broke and asked to make a pot.</p><p>Balin, freshly washed, clad only in his breeches and wrapped in a pilfered blanket, was scanning the titles of the two shelves of books that created quite a sizeable library for one of the common folk.</p><p>"Histories and tales of old, mostly," he reported softly. "None of them younger than two hundred years. These were pilfered from the Dale of old."</p><p>He carefully took out one book and leafed to the very last page. "<em>Property of Lake-town library,</em>" he read. "Is your friend a thief, Master Bard?"</p><p>Bard sent him an exasperated frown in reply. "Those were borrowed–or even more likely, traded. This is a small town, Master Dwarf, with any valuables long accounted for. Even something less noticeable than a book would be easily traced to the thief, if it were to go missing."</p><p>The bargeman's words rang with a warning, and Kíli bristled at the insinuation.</p><p>"Well, <em>someone</em> got up on the wrong side of a barrel today." Fili's voice startled Kíli back to his corner of the room. "Is the wound giving you grief?"</p><p>The question was spoken softly enough that it wouldn't carry further than his ears. He appreciated that, whilst also bemoaning the fact he'd failed to hide his discomfort long enough for Fili to show concern.</p><p>"We've done a lot of running today; the leg's determined to punish me for it," Kíli said dismissively. "I'll be alright by the morning."</p><p>Fili, Mahal bless him, didn't care much for coddling and likewise did not impose it on others, and only patted Kíli's shoulder in sympathy.</p><p>Uncle and Dwalin came to stand close by, leaning over a map they'd noticed peeping through a pile of rags.</p><p>"It seems to have been revised, and not that long ago," Dwalin grumbled out excitedly. "Thorin, just the paths to the Iron Hills-"</p><p>Dwalin never finished that thought as that was when a new voice cut through the familiar rumble of the dwarrows.</p><p>"Well, if this is a- a robbery, you are making quite a mess of it."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Many thanks to my amazing sister, who gave me her ear, her time and her advice as a sounding board for this new insanity of mine. </p><p>And on top of that, even agreed to be my second set of eyes and make the text all the more understandable for the rest of you.</p><p>Su moc ráda, že se na tohle dobrodružství můžem vydat spolu, Ája!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Whirlwind: Kíli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With a steaming cuppa in reach and a wonderfully explicit novel in hand, Luna settled into her wingback chair with a content sigh, ready for the long night ahead.</p><p>It was, of course, that moment Hermione chose to step into the room.</p><p>"Is it done, then?"</p><p>Luna suppressed the eye roll but couldn't quite fight off the quirk of her eyebrow. "Is what done?"</p><p>Hermione shot her a glare, but swiftly returned her eyes back to the figure of their friend, peacefully sleeping on Luna's couch. "Is she- <em>away</em>?"</p><p>"She's dreaming away, yes," Luna answered and couldn't quite manage to leave the excited pride out of her voice.</p><p>Hermione closed her eyes in reply and fell silent, worry crinkling up her wrinkled face even further. She stood quiet long enough for Luna to reopen her book. After barely half a paragraph, Hermione spoke up again.</p><p>"How long is she supposed to stay like that?"</p><p>Luna put her index finger on the last word she'd read. "Her natural sleeping cycle averages at seven hours and thirty-eight minutes. So about that long."</p><p>"And what if she doesn't wake?"</p><p>"Everyone has always woken up. Without a single exception."</p><p>"They all woke up <em>dead</em>," Hermione croaked back.</p><p>That wasn't entirely correct but Luna had had the same argument with Hermione before. "Close enough. But the fact stays that they all fully returned from their dream."</p><p>"What if she dies, too?"</p><p>"Well, that would certainly solve her immortality problem."</p><p>Hermione's grey eyebrows furrowed. "This is no time to jest."</p><p>"It's also a bit late and utterly pointless to have this discussion with me now, Hermione."</p><p>She huffed in reply and instead of storming off as Luna hoped, she collapsed into the companionable wingback next to Luna's. "Apparently, I have more than seven hours of worrying to do. The least you can do is help me make the time crawl faster."</p><p>By that point, Luna made her peace with the fact Hermione wasn't going anywhere, no matter how vehemently she'd sworn she'd have absolutely nothing to do with this experiment.</p><p>She snapped her book shut, took off her glasses and conjured another cuppa for Hermione.</p><p>They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their tea and staring at the youthful face of their friend.</p><p>"How long will it seem to her?" Hermione asked.</p><p>"I don't know."</p><p>"Is there any way to find out what she sees?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"How can we know she's not stuck on some hellish planet, fighting for every breath?"</p><p>"We cannot."</p><p>When Hermione let out a soft whimper and seemed to have curled into herself on the armchair, Luna took pity and mustered up some compassion. "She packed practically the entirety of her house, plus several muggle shops worth of equipment. She's more prepared than she'd ever been for any of her previous adventures. She'll be fine, wherever the dream takes her."</p><hr/><p><em>"</em> <em>Well, if this is a- a robbery, you are making quite a mess of it."</em></p><p>"Harry!" Bard immediately called out but if he said anything else, it got lost in the sudden ruckus the dwarrows made. They raised from their seats as one, and turned towards the stranger that had appeared in their midst without a single warning.</p><p>Kíli's eyes also followed the voice, even if he was slow to get to his feet. He had to direct his gaze not to the door, as he'd first expected, but to the staircase leading down to the dry dock beneath the house. There, at the nape of the steps, stood a young man barely older than Bard's teenage son. His bare face didn't show even a shadow of a stubble, and he stood almost as sensibly close to the stone as a tall dwarf would–an inch or two more than what even a dwarrow of the statuesque Durin's line could wish for, but of truly pitiable high for a grown Man.</p><p><em>This </em>was their host?</p><p>To his credit, the lad didn't flinch when thirteen dwarrows turned to him with raised fists, cups and other bits posed to be thrown in some of them. That would be a feat of its own for anyone, but it was even more impressive for this stick of a man, who stood merely an inch taller than Dwalin, who was currently holding an iron poker over him, only a short swing away from sending the kid back tumbling down the stairs, head first.</p><p>The lad's eyes ran over the warrior looming over him before his decidedly unimpressed gaze shifted to Bard. He raised his eyebrows at the bargeman.</p><p>"We came seeking shelter," Bard spoke into the tense silence.</p><p>Their host, because that most probably was indeed their host, huffed in exasperation at the obvious reply. "I'm not... running an inn here."</p><p>He spoke clumsily, halting between his words even through his obvious ire. There was a strange lilt to his voice, an accent that Kíli couldn't place. A grown Man who was only now learning Westron? How peculiar in Lake-town, where the Northmen spoke the Common. Kíli knew there were peoples both west and east of the Mountains that used their own language, though he hadn't met that many to recognise their host's accent. Uncle and Balin would know better. Well-travelled as they were, they could probably guess by the lad's features to which Men he belonged to. Kíli only squinted at the lad's face in vain; he had the dark and wild hair of the Northmen, and their pale skin, though he seemed shorter and more frail than any other adult Men they had met in the town today.</p><p>"Can't really take this to an inn."</p><p>Their host only raised his brows higher, silently bidding Bard continue.</p><p>Bard took a heavy sigh and relented. "They're on a run from-"</p><p>"Now, bargeman, no one has given you leave to tell any tales," Dwalin snarled, the iron poker twitching in his grasp, although he had lowered it down to his leg.</p><p>"Harry deserves to know what risks you bring to his home," Bard shot at Dwalin, dismissing his objection without even looking at the dwarf. "They've come from Mirkwood, with no provisions to speak of and chased by arrows. Harry, you know as well as me that the Master won't risk the ire of the Woodland elves; when Thranduil asks, he'll hand them over in a spit."</p><p>Their host's eyes found Dwalin and his poker again. "And what did you do to... anger the elves?"</p><p>Dwalin's eyes narrowed but Balin raced him to the answer. "Nothing more grievous but crossing their borders, Master Harry. There's no love lost between our two races, as you might have learnt from your books," Balin pointed at the bookshelves. "Hasn't been for thousands of years. It does not take much for conflict to escalate when an elf and a dwarf are the ones exchanging opinions."</p><p>The lad's eyes lingered on his books for a short moment, before he turned back to Balin. "You are not the first dwarves to travel through here. Others did not arrive with the same... predicament."</p><p>Balin nodded. "Aye. Alas, we were the first dwarves in a very long while forced to cross the Mirkwood through elven paths."</p><p>"<em>Forced</em>?"</p><p>"A pack of orcs chased us to the borders of the forest. We were left no other choice but to take immediate cover in the trees," Balin readily offered, spinning the truth in their favour.</p><p>Next to him, Uncle and Dwalin were growing restless with the chatter. "We have paid Master Bargeman here for a safe passage through the town, and provisions for further travel," Thorin hastened the conversation to its point. "He offered your house for shelter. What say you?"</p><p>"Name your price, Harry," the bargeman quickly added, "I'll take care of it."</p><p>The boy's eyes squinted at them, one dwarf at the time, before he finally settled back on Bard. "The whole town is abuzz with talks of dwarves. You have not been subtle leading them here."</p><p>"People are fed up with the Master. They won't rattle off to his guards."</p><p>"People might not. A man might, though, one who has gone hungry for too many days."</p><p>"If that happens, it'll be on my head. It was me who people saw leading them here. I would take the blame."</p><p>The boy scoffed at that. "And leave me watching your kids go hungry while you... rot in a cell?"</p><p>He looked rather resolutely unconvinced, and Kíli inwardly braced himself for the pain of another mad dash through the town.</p><p>"How long would you stay?" the boy then asked. Kíli paused in bracing himself for the impending humiliation of climbing through the bargeman's toilet, and grew tentatively hopeful instead.</p><p>The lad was wisely talking to Balin who had been polite with his answers so far. It was Uncle who answered, though, after a glance at the remaining light outside the window and a shared look with Balin. "We'll leave before dawn on the morrow, as long as Master Bard delivers what was agreed on."</p><p>"Hm."</p><p>The boy went silent after the noncommittal grump. He held uncle's gaze for a long moment, before he turned back to Bard.</p><p>"You'll take me on that barge of yours down the river and back, as far as we can go in one day. You'll take your three bairns, too, and we'll have lunch up in the hills."</p><p>Unlike the thirteen dwarves who were left staring at the lad, Bard did not look particularly surprised at the strange request. "I was rather hoping you'd ask me to replace the rotting keel on that flowing bucket of yours."</p><p>"That'll keep."</p><p>"It's been <em>keeping </em>for many moons."</p><p>"And when it gets truly urgent, you will repair it for a few coins. But getting you to appreciate a day of leisure proved to be much pricier... endeavour in the past."</p><p>Next to him, Fíli choked on that last remark. Kíli himself glanced down at the boy's feet, convinced he'd see two furry paddles worthy of a Hobbit, as the boy certainly showed a Shire attitude. He found only moderately sized boots. With his unimpressive height, though, maybe he was of Shire ancestry?</p><p>Fíli's thoughts evidently went in a different direction. "Are they teasing? You know, <em>teasing?</em>"</p><p>Kíli paused at the whispered suggestion. "Is that a custom of Men?" he wondered dubiously, and indeed, Bard's replying smile was too indulging, aimed more at a child to nurture than at an equal to charm.</p><p>"One condition. Go buy the dwarves a week's worth of provisions and I'll repair your dinghy. Then, we can go for that trip of yours."</p><p>The boy did not hesitate. "Deal."</p><p>"Thank you, Harry," Bard said, the strict haggling mask swiftly slipping off his face for sincere gratitude. He tossed the boy several coins. "I'd do the shopping myself, but together with everything else today, it might prove too suspicious."</p><p>"Will you be fetching our weapons now, then, Master Bard?" Balin asked politely.</p><p>Bard nodded and turned for the door, but then hesitated and glanced back at the boy.</p><p>The lad rolled his eyes. "Go. We'll be alright."</p><hr/><p>With the bargeman gone, an uncomfortable silence once again settled in the room. The boy's eyes kept switching between Dwalin's snarl, Balin's carefully schooled mask and Thorin's hard stare. Only once did he sweep his gaze to the rest of them, receiving mostly distrustful glares back.</p><p>"Well, there won't be any wares left at the market for much longer," the lad said at last. "I'd better be going." He shot one more futile look at the dwarrows in his house. "Make yourself at home. Just- don't touch anything you... don't recognise."</p><p>The moment the door shut behind the boy's back, Nori moved. He made for a particularly colourful tapestry with a hideous flower pattern, and flipped its bottom corner up. A wall of timber lay beneath it. Nori wedged his fingernails in between two planks and pulled. The wooden board easily flipped open under the watchful eyes of the rest of the Company, and revealed a dark space behind.</p><p>Nori fished inside and brought a handful of golden coins out into the light.</p><p>"Put them back," Thorin barked. "We are not as desperate as to repay hospitality with thievery."</p><p>"Wasn't my intention."</p><p>Nori huffed at the disbelieving glares he got in reply, but he did not move to return the coins back inside the hidden cabinet, either. Instead, he picked a coin out and studied its mint. "These are from the Iron Hills."</p><p>"Don't you ever listen? Curb those thieving fingers of yours for once and put-"</p><p>"These are from the Iron Hills," Nori repeated over Dori's protests, ignoring his brother with the ease of practise. He raised the coin and squirted at its profile against the light. "But they weren't minted on a dwarven press."</p><p>That gave them all a pause, whilst Nori once again reached inside the hollowed space in the wall. His arm disappeared all the way to its elbow before it came up again, clutching two coin-sized molds.</p><p>Growls and indignant huffs were heard as the dwarves clasped the significance of the two negatives of Iron Hill coins and the small forge by the fire.</p><p><em>Svergûndnzmal shimurund</em>, Bifur bit out and Kíli couldn't help but agree. <em>A beardless crook</em>, indeed.</p><p>"How in the name of Mahal's hairy balls did the Easterling manage to hammer the metal?" Dwalin asked. "With those twigs he has for arms?"</p><p>"Perhaps he didn't," Balin pointed out. "He might have had help."</p><p>"The mass is right, though," Nori contemplated, weighing the gold in his palm now. "They've not been plated."</p><p>"Not a crook, then," Uncle reassessed. "Just a thief."</p><p>Kíli now remembered what Bard said about stolen valuables being easily traced to their thieves in this small town. It seemed their host found a solution to that particular problem.</p><p>"Nori, put it all back. Everyone, I want a constant watch on every window and door. It wouldn't do to be fooled by the word of a common filcher."</p><p>By the time Bilbo finally came down the stairs from his wash, the dwarves were strategically stationed in silent groups across all the entrance points, household tools for weapons in reach of their arms. Kíli saw Bilbo's nose twitch as he took in the tension. "What did I miss?"</p><hr/><p>"He's coming back!" Ori hissed loudly quite a while later, long after the autumn sun had started its quick descent. "Seems to be alone."</p><p>Uncle rushed to Ori's side, peering down at the street below their house. "Away from the door. Don't arm yourselves just yet, but be ready."</p><p>A moment later, the front door opened and their host appeared. He faced away from them as he pushed the door with his back, his arms laden with several tightly packed sacks.</p><p>"Don't stretch yourselves too much. It's only <em>your </em>groceries," he grumbled when he finally turned around and frowned at their motionless stances along the walls. If he noticed the sudden spike in distrust, he did not comment on it.</p><p>He put down his load onto the nearest table, uncaring of the scrolls already resting on it. Kíli practically felt Ori bristle next to him at the rough treatment of the precious parchment.</p><p>"Well, have at it. I imagine it's been a while since your last meal."</p><p>Whilst Bombur practically launched himself at the fastenings of the sacks, with Bifur and Gloin following closely behind, Kíli's eyes didn't let go of their host as the lad stepped away from the table, smirking at the eagerness. Thus, it didn't escape Kíli's attention when Harry's brows furrowed and he twisted on his heels, his eyes unerringly landing on their burglar, as if his brain finally processed what it had noticed moments before.</p><p>"Well, hello," he said after a beat of hesitation. He schooled his face back into the disinterested politeness he tended to grace the rest of them with. His eyes, though, gained a sudden wariness. Kíli suppressed a chuckle at that–after facing Dwalin's brandished iron poker and Uncle's glowering, their host chose to be wary of the <em>Hobbit. </em>"You're new."</p><p>Bilbo looked visibly uncomfortable with the sudden attention, the intense stare of their host rather unsettling even to Kíli, who didn't have the eyes directed at him. They were a rather peculiarly rich shade of green, he noted idly.</p><p>Unlike everyone else in the Company but unsurprising to any, Bilbo decided to fall back on his manners when put on the spot instead of snarls. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."</p><p>The lad's mouth twitched into an easy smile at the hobbit's primness. "<em>Harry Potter</em>. At yours."</p><p>The name had been pronounced with a different accent than what Bard had used, or Harry himself spoke with when using Westron. A foreign name, for a foreign Man, indeed.</p><p>"<em>Harrypotter</em>?" the hobbit tried to imitate the strange word, with moderate success.</p><p>"<em>Harry</em>'s the name. <em>Potter </em>translates to Westron as a potter, if I'm not mistaken."</p><p>"A potter?" Bilbo asked, brows furrowed in confusion and eyes fruitlessly searching for the pottery tools and wares they couldn't have possibly missed during their search of the place.</p><p>The boy chuckled, although it sounded more exasperated than amused. "An obsolete family name, nothing else. Tell me, Master Baggins- what exactly are you?"</p><p>Bilbo bristled at the question exactly the way Kíli had known he would. "Why, a Hobbit, of course, Master Potter Who's Not a Potter. A Hobbit of the Shire."</p><p>"A Hobbit?" the boy repeated, his gaze fixated at Bilbo's furry feet in fascination. "Well, that's certainly new."</p><p>"I assure you, Hobbits are far from <em>new. </em>We've been farming the lands of the Shire for centuries, and wandered Middle-earth long before that!"</p><p>"I meant no offense, Master Hobbit. It's just that I've never heard or read about your kind before."</p><p>Bilbo deflated a bit at the apology. "Well, us Hobbits tend to keep to ourselves, sensibly away from any excitement that would make the stuff for stories and books."</p><p>Harry had more questions for their burglar, that much was clear from the way his brows stayed furrowed above his curious eyes; he took a breath when Dori stepped in.</p><p>"Apologies, Master Harry, but would it be possible to take advantage of your- ehm, your kitchen? If so, we'd repay the favour by sharing our meal with you."</p><p>"'Course, use whatever you need. Most of the dishes are just," their host hesitated, raising his hand to point into the corner by the firepit, only to pause and wave his arm feebly over the entirety of the room, "...there."</p><p>Kíli saw how truly Dori wanted to comment, and snickered softly when the dwarf's cheeks puffed up with the effort to keep quiet. "No worries, lad, we'll sort ourselves out," Dori forced through his teeth instead.</p><p>He didn't fool their host, who seemed more amused by the dwarf's difficulties to tame his fussiness than embarrassed about the state of this home. "I have no doubt about that. You dwarves seem to have a knack for getting around a stranger's house."</p><p>Kíli exchanged an uneasy glance with his brother. Did the man only comment on them taking their leave to use his washing room and blankets, or was it a jab at something more? Did he notice anything afoot after their thorough sweep of his house?</p><p>After an awkward beat of silence, Balin hastily stepped in. "We are an uprooted people indeed, and had enjoyed the hospitality of many strangers during our travels. Even so, your home is baffling in many ways, Master Harry. Would you perhaps enlighten us what this is made from?"</p><p>Balin pointed at a crate containing tatters of faded grey cloth. Except it wasn't cloth at all, as they'd discovered during their peruse of the house, the material much lighter and yet firmer.</p><p>"I wish I had bothered to ask the same question, Master Dwarf, when I had the chance. I could perhaps patch it up now."</p><p>"<em>Patch it up</em> into what, if you don't mind me asking?"</p><p>"Well, it used to be a rather useful tent."</p><p>"Oh, is it indeed waterproof? We have wondered. Is it an invention from the lands you hail from?"</p><p>If their host was surprised they had deduced his foreign origin, he didn't show it. He only let out a sigh, long and tired. "I don't rightly know."</p><p>Kíli safely recognised the expression on his old tutor's face: the knowing frustration he had reached a wall with his questions. Let it not be said Balin was ever in a habit to give up easily, though. "You can't be away for long, then. More homesick, you wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to talk about your home."</p><p>His rather obvious efforts were awarded by an unimpressed chuckle. "Ask your questions plainly, Master Dwarf, if you must insist on asking them."</p><p>Balin let out a chuckle of his own, a sincere one, at the lad's blunt manner. "Very well. We thought you might belong to the tribes of Men from the East. Were we right?"</p><p>"You were."</p><p>"We rarely saw merchants from the sea of Rhûn, even when the Esgaroth of old was the hub of all trade East of the Misty Mountains. Even more rare were Easterlings who would settle."</p><p>Balin fell silent, looking at the lad with kind but inquisitive eyes. The lad stared back.</p><p>Kíli snorted softly when it became clear the Easterling would not fill the silence Balin had served him. Kíli's old tutor realised the same and sighed. "What prompted you to settle down in Lake-town?"</p><p>Kíli could be mistaken, but there seemed to be an amused spark in the lad's eyes as they stared at the puffing dwarf. "Well, it wasn't the local weather, that's for sure."</p><p>"Is this the writing of your- eh, tribe? I've never seen its like," Ori asked from beside the desk at the window, many a notebook and scroll basking in the diminishing light from the twilight sun.</p><p>Kíli did not doubt the genuine curiosity in the young scribe's voice but he rather suspected the sudden volley of questions was orchestrated, probably as much an effort to keep their host occupied as to learn more about him.</p><p>"That," their host suddenly hissed, quick strides taking him towards the desk, "is private."</p><p>Kíli briefly wondered at the sudden sharpness of the Easterling's voice when Ori himself admitted he couldn't read the words. Then he remembered that he'd examined the parchments himself, when the Easterling left for the market, and that they were littered with drawings and scratches that did not require translations, even if Kíli couldn't make heads or tails of them.</p><p>Kíli heard the snap of books being shut but he was quickly losing the strength to keep on listening to the conversation that followed, his eyes shutting up under their sudden weight.</p><hr/><p>He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes again, lamps, not sunlight, were brightening the room, a pleasant scent of dinner lingered in the air and Bard stood in the open door.</p><p>The bargeman strode in with his wide-eyed son following right on his heels. More importantly, he carried a bundle of cloth wrapped around something oblong and obviously heavy. They could only hope it was their promised weapons.</p><p>"About time," Kíli heard Dwalin's particularly vicious snarl. Dinner hadn't been served yet, then.</p><p>Without a greeting or a single word, Bard dropped the bundle onto the table that had been cleared for their meal. Kíli rose on wobbly legs from the bench he'd fallen asleep on, as all the dwarrow quickly clustered around the unwrapped cloth. Only to fall back with indignation a moment later.</p><p>Dori's voice rose higher above the complaints of others. "What's this <em>caragu rukhs</em>! We asked for proper weapons!"</p><p>"And what proper weapons did you have in mind, Master Dwarf?" Bard's voice cut through the commotion. Kíli looked sharply at the bargeman–the man stood a few paces away from the dwarrows, back ramrod straight and tense, his arms crossed determinedly in front of his chest, and his hard eyes also promising a confrontation. "Because I hardly doubt that any weapon in this town, even the iron-forged ones from the Master's armory, would do you any <em>proper </em>good when you march against a dragon!"</p><p>His last word rang like an accusation across the room, leaving utter silence in its wake, as the dwarrows froze for a beat. Then, the supposed weapons they had scoffed at a moment ago suddenly found their way into clenched fists.</p><p>"Finally!"</p><p>Their host's breathless burst was little more than a whisper, but in the complete silence of the room, it easily carried to all their ears. Kíli risked a glance through the corner of his eye. The Easterling stood leaning against the far wall, staring at Uncle with blatant excitement growing on his face.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had the idea of Luna travelling to different dimensions during her dreams in my head for years, probably since I read</p><p>  <b>A Black Comedy by nonjon</b></p><p>for the first time many, many years ago. It's an excellent story, one of the very few that make me laugh out loud. A comedy with an actual plot, and very cleverly written. Luna has a cameo, visiting the same world Harry had travelled off to in her dream, convinced she's just dreaming him up.</p><p>If you haven't read it- shoo, shoo! It's not at all like the story I'm writing here, but it definitely belongs to my old time favourites.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Whirlwind: Kíli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"Finally!"</em>
</p><p>The tension itself seemed to have given a pause as they all turned their questioning eyes at their host. In response to their stares, the Easterling just raised his palms as in an apology for the interruption, and hopped up to sit on the edge of a desk, eyes shining back at them but lips firmly locked.</p><p>Bard was the first one to dismiss the Easterling and his strange outburst, and rounded his glare on Uncle again.</p><p>"I recognised your name from an old tapestry, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thor, King Beneath the Mountain. You're planning to enter the dragon's lair."</p><p>Kíli's fist clamped on the disfigured hammer he was holding. After Mirkwood, he had it up to his chin with people interfering.</p><p>"That <em>dragon's lair</em>," Uncle hissed through clenched teeth, "is the home of my people. Whether we are to enter it or not, is none of your concern."</p><p>"None of our concern?" Bard repeated, incredulous anger forcing a chuckle out of him. "We live in the shadow of the Mountain. When you wake the dragon, where will its rage first turn to?"</p><p>"...<em>the bells shall ring in gladness, at the Mountain King's return, But all shall fail in sadness, the Lake will shine and burn</em>!" Once again, a new voice entered the fray, soft and young. The dwarrows, two men and a hobbit turned back to the door, where Bard's son still stood, his back glued to the wood, his voice reciting as from a half forgotten memory, but growing stronger with every line. "The prophecy! Da- the prophecy speaks of this day!"</p><p>A soft huff caught Kíli's attention but when he turned his head towards their host, the Easterling just sat unmoving, perched on his desk and watching the proceedings with furrowed brows.</p><p>"Aye, that song reached us even back at our home, west of the Misty Mountains," Balin spoke, his tone gentle when he addressed the young boy. "Perhaps it was the many miles and mouths it travelled, but the message as we know it was rather different, and promised a more cheerful ending. <em>All sorrow fail at the Mountain-king's return,</em>if I remember it correctly."</p><p>Bard's mouth twitched but he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Aye, people sing that version, too. Ignorant, foolhardy people, blinded by greed. But there are many of us who won't ignore the warning and risk the fury of the dragon for the traitorous promise of gold and riches!"</p><p>"You say you won't risk Smaug's fury and yet, you do so every day, every hour and every minute you spend living on this lake," Uncle intoned, voice remarkably calm for the heated moment, steady with utter conviction. "If the dragon still lives, it <em>will</em> wake up at some point. Be it today, tomorrow or when your children have bairns of their own. And he will turn his hungry eyes at the closest meal he sees. You won't stop him by cowering in your houses, praying he slumbers forever."</p><p>Bard didn't have anything quick to say to that and Thorin used the silence to calm his voice even further. "Prophecies are only what one decides to take from them. Be it hope or a warning-"</p><p>A movement caught Kíli's eye and this time, he actually spotted their host moving. The Easterling leaned back, resting against the tapestry on the wall, his head tilted in contemplation.</p><p>Uncle, meanwhile, carried on. "-but trust me, Master Bard, we don't need a warning to know precisely what a dragon's fury brings. We <em>remember</em>." Kíli involuntarily shuddered at the pain that ladened Uncle's voice through that word.</p><p>"And yet, we dare to hope. We dare to act on our hope and take what's rightly ours."</p><p>"You are but fourteen strong. How exactly do you <em>hope</em>to kill the dragon when a mountain full of dwarves and a city full of soldiers both failed?"</p><p>Uncle didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned to Balin, his chin inclined in a query. After a beat, Balin dipped his head in silent approval.</p><p>"Our plan is not to fight the dragon, at least not right away," Uncle revealed then. "If Smaug is dead, we reclaim the Mountain and send for the rest of our people. If he slumbers still, we'll come back with an army prepared to face him in a battle."</p><p>"And what if you wake him, long before your army arrives?"</p><p>"That is the risk we shall all bear."</p><p>Bard snorted, all humour gone. "<em>All</em>? It will be this city that burns, whilst your people rest, save, hundreds of miles away."</p><p>"<em>My people</em>? My people, my kin, are right here beside me, Master Bard. It's their dear lives I'm putting in danger, and yet I see the value of doing so."</p><p>"And for what? A horde of gold? Is your greed so great that you value treasures over the lives of your family?"</p><p>A ripple went through the already tense wall of dwarrows, putting them even closer to the edge. Uncle's voice turned ice cold. "We have lost much more than treasures when Smaug chased us from our home, bargeman. It's their chance for a future I weigh against my people's lives. Nothing less than that."</p><p>They fell silent, Uncle and the bargeman both, reaching a point where no one had anything more to say and yet, neither side could be moved from their conviction. Kíli raised the unbalanced hammer in his hand, and prepared for the violence that usually followed. He knew the dwarrows beside him did the same. What thoughts and plans were running behind Bard's schooled eyes, Kíli did not know, but as there were fourteen of them and only one of him, he did not bother guessing.</p><p>"The dragon is alive."</p><p>Kíli startled at the voice. Chastising himself, he'd altogether forgotten about their audience for a moment. Now, wary looks turned to their host. He still sat at the edge of his desk, but now with his back ramrod straight.</p><p>"He's also a rather... light sleeper," the Easterling carried on, words still spoken clumsily, but with flat conviction still. "I don't know what you intend to do at the Mountain, but if your steps lead anywhere close to his horde, you <em>will</em>wake him."</p><p>"And what would <em>you</em> know of that, boy?" Dwalin snapped, but the beat of hesitation that had preceded his jab hadn't gone unnoticed. It merely confirmed what Kíli and Fíli had suspected for some time - none of the Company harboured hopes that only a corpse awaited them at the Mountain.</p><p>Harry seemed unperturbed with the glares directed at him. "I travelled to the Mountain and I put my ear against the stone of your gates. Smaug's breaths... reverberate through your halls. They hitched when I knocked."</p><p>Stunned silence followed that statement. Kíli exchanged a glance with Fíli, his eyebrows involuntarily raising at the cheekiness of the feat the lad claimed.</p><p>"You knocked at a sleeping dragon's door?" Bard repeated in his bewilderment. "Why ever would you do such a thing?"</p><p>A wistful smile twitched at the corners of their host's mouth but Uncle latched at Bard's question before the Easterling had a chance to answer. "Why indeed, <em>Master</em> Harry? Pray tell, what were you doing at Erebor's gates?"</p><p>The Easterling's own eyes hardened in reply to Thorin's glare. "I don't appreciate your... insinuation, Dwarf King. You were right–people of this town live in constant danger from the dragon. I only wished to confirm if the threat was still real. So take your suspicions and shove them where they won't blind you to the truth of it."</p><p>Dori wheezed at the lad's audacity towards their king whilst Dwalin went straight to raising the misshapen harpoon in his hands. In response, the Easterling paused to take in a deep breath and when he carried on, his voice sounded calmer for it. "When I stepped to the gates, some pebbles got loose. That faint sound was enough to catch the sleeping dragon's attention. If you enter the Mountain, you <em>will</em> wake him."</p><p>The lad didn't say anything else, but watched them with keen eyes as they also fell silent, all eyes now turned to their king. Kíli could see only one side of Uncle's face but he still observed it closely, watching for any clues to Thorin's thoughts in his features. He was not at all surprised when they finally settled into a grim determination, and then morphed into a cold smile when Uncle addressed the Easterling.</p><p>"Well, in that case, we'll just have to make sure our steps tread lighter than yours, Master Harry."</p><p>Uncle did not look at the hobbit in their midst, but Kíli knew he wanted to. So did Kíli, but he stopped himself, content to listen to Bilbo shuffling his feet under the attention that was very pointedly <em>not</em> aimed at him.</p><p>Kíli let his Uncle's determination wash away some of his doubts. They had a map to a secret entrance and a hobbit who had sneaked, undetected, around Elvish pointy ears in their halls for weeks. They had a chance to succeed and they <em>would</em>.</p><p>In front of them, the Easterling visibly deflated. "Somehow, I knew you'd say this."</p><p>With that, he turned to the bargeman, his face contorted into a grimace, as if he bit into something particularly sour. "I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but you should probably help them."</p><p>Bard, who had fallen silent for the past exchange, twitched violently at that, as if physically struck. "What on all of Arda are you saying, Harry?"</p><p>"Look at them and <em>think</em> for a moment, Bard, my friend. They'll go to the Mountain no matter what we say or do. And I'd rather not be unconscious or tied up in my attic when they run away to wake the dragon."</p><p>Now it was Bard's turn to freeze in hard contemplation, scrutinizing the group in front of him. Kíli wondered what sight they made, in borrowed coats and blankets, without their beads and jewellery, hair wild and braids undone, brandishing misshapen harpoons and hammers for weapons.</p><p>A moment of tense silence later, Bard closed his eyes.</p><p>His whole body went slack then, as his features also collapsed with resignation. His was the face of a man who was willingly walking into a disaster. Kíli tried not to feel insulted by it.</p><p>Instead, he let out a soft sigh at the realisation they might have just gained an ally. A reluctant ally, but that was still a better outcome than the waves upon waves of constant obstacles this journey had been throwing under their feet.</p><p>"We're going to regret this," Bard said softly to the Easterling.</p><p>Harry nodded without hesitation. "Aye, we probably will."</p><p>The bargeman chuckled at that, the sound dry and humourless. Then he turned to face Thorin, his back once again stiff and straight. "I propose a trade, my lord."</p><p>Uncle tilted his head with only a beat of hesitation, listening.</p><p>"We'll help you to get your <em>proper</em>iron-forged weapons from the armory, and sneak you out of town. In exchange, you give me your word that you won't enter the Mountain without a plan on how to kill the dragon in case he wakes."</p><p>Uncle's brows rose but the bargeman wasn't done talking.</p><p>"I see you have plans and ideas that make you confident you'll enter and walk out of the Mountain unnoticed. By all means, trust in your secrets. But for the sake of my people, and for the sake of yours, stop for just a moment and think of a plan how to kill the beast in case it wakes."</p><p>Uncle's eyes narrowed. "You would have us sit here, <em>contemplating</em> hairbrained schemes, and let you run off to alert the guards?"</p><p>The bargeman scowled fiercely at the accusation, the Easterling sighed in exasperation but it was the boy at the door who was the first to speak up. "If you don't trust Da's word, you can keep me here as surety."</p><p>"Bain- <em>no</em>."</p><p>The boy finally detached his back from the door and made a wobbly step forward, his cheeks flushed under the intense scrutiny of everyone in the room, but lifting his chin, anyway. "The trust has to start somewhere, Da."</p><p>"And you would trust them with your life?"</p><p>"I- the prophecy-"</p><p>"Forget the prophecy! This isn't a song to follow, Bain. These are our lives–and the lives of your sisters–that we're playing with."</p><p>"No, Da, please listen–it has partly come true, right? The prophecy. I mean, the King Beneath the Mountain has returned. Whether it now all ends in sorrow and flames, or in joy and gold: that's for us to decide."</p><p>Kíli was left staring for a beat or two, stunned at such conviction coming from someone as young as this. His words were clumsy, aye, but they still resonated with Kíli's superstitious roots, the same way they must have impressed on the rest of the dwarves, if the beat of hushed silence was anything to go by.</p><p>Bard reached for his son, clasping his shoulder. "Where has all this wisdom come from?"</p><p>"Well, certainly not from his father," the Easterling grumbled, a soft smile playing on his lips.</p><p>The bargeman reached for him with his other hand, and managed to ruffle Harry's hair before the Easterling hissed in indignation and stepped out of reach.</p><p>He turned to face the dwarrows, standing in front of the other men as if to shield them in their moment. "Bard has the truth of it. I do trust in the power of improvisation, I really do. But- but don't let the dragon surprise you for the second time, that's all we're asking."</p><p>Kíli bristled at that. Next to him, Fíli let out a soft growl.</p><p>"We've paid you for weapons and safe passage through town. You're not offering anything that has not already been bought," Uncle said, voice deceptively calm, as it cut through the room like a shard of ice in an answer to the Easterling's provocation.</p><p>The boy blinked, and dipped his head. For a moment, Kíli thought he might be seeing a bit of remorse in his eyes, but then the lad plundered on.</p><p>"It's not like we're asking something new from you, either. Don't pretend you haven't spent every night of the last hundred and seventy years thinking of how you'd exercise your vengeance. If you still need more time to adjust the ideas to your current situation, then by all means, enjoy my hospitality for as many nights as you need to, to put your heads together."</p><p>There was a beat of hesitation before Uncle turned to share a long look with Balin. When he next spoke, some of the fight left his voice. "We cannot linger more than a night."</p><p>"Why ever not?"</p><p><em>Durin's Day, it must be close</em>, Kíli realised, chiding himself he hadn't thought to ask for the date. He'd lost count of the passing days in Mirkwood and the elven dungeons, but he was sure Balin hadn't.</p><p>That wasn't the reason Uncle offered to the men, though. "There's a pack of Orcs on our tails. They would have traced us to the lakeshore by now. By tomorrow night, they will reach the town."</p><p>Oh. Kíli twitched, completely forgetting that minor detail. The wound complained at the abrupt movement, sending a jolt of pain up his spine. He bit his tongue to keep the groan in.</p><p>Bard stepped forward, eyes once again ablaze. "And you forgot to mention this when you stepped onto my boat?"</p><p>Uncle withstood his gaze, eyes locked with the man's. "I'm giving you the warning now."</p><p>"There's good food getting cold," Dori quickly jumped in, as the tension of the climbing tempers started filling the room once again. "Let us have dinner. We shall resume the talk after."</p><p>So they did. Ate and then talked rather a long deal, the hour growing late and then early again, the ink black of the lake behind the windows already fading with the promise of dawn before the last of them retired to bed.</p><p>Against his best efforts, Kíli slept through most of it, slipping back to consciousness only under Oin's rough ministrations, and only for short moments. He'd ask Fíli in the morning to fill in the gaps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A story that had made me fall in love with the <i>dwarrows</i> of Erebor (and also taught me the grammatically correct use of the word) is the amazingly written Hobbit AU</p><p>  <b><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050649">Where Wilder Hearts Roam</a> by eveninglottie</b></p><p>This story made me laugh at places, and made me pause in contemplation almost as often. A great romance story between Thorin and a female Hobbit joining the Company instead of Bilbo, with the two of them taking turns telling us their story. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Whirlwind: Harry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So far, the morning was going rather well.</p><p>Even the three-pointed star of a dwarf that had accompanied Harry to the armory seemed to think so. She could hear him whispering to his friends from where they were boarding her boat.</p><p>"Clever as a fox, our host is," the dwarf—Nori, they'd called him last night—said softly. "That stutter of his gets even more pronounced outside the walls of his house. People think him a dimwit for it. They're quite ready to ignore a lot, in their pity."</p><p>The dwarf was observant. They'd barely spent half an hour in the town this morning, her rowing, him hiding underneath a bundle of fishing nets at the front of the boat. And yet, he managed to clock on her strategy, whilst with the townspeople, it'd been working without a glitch for the past four months. It reminded her how feeble this disguise was, bound to collapse completely upon the first mistake. Harry wondered if this morning would prove to be such a blow.</p><p>After all, she had walked into the armory in full sight of the guards, with a rather transparent excuse of Alfrid's orders. If anyone bordered to count the weapons in the coming days, the missing swords and axes she'd passed through the window to Nori would be discovered. The Easterling dimwit would be the first suspect and the innocuous persona she'd been so carefully weaving for the past months would shutter altogether.</p><p>Harry was rather stunned by how little she minded that possibility.</p><p>Up until last night, she'd thought herself perfectly happy spending this insanity of a dream in Lake-town, dealing with the disaster of her botched-up arrival and finding her way back to Luna in the dubious comforts the town offered. Before last night, Harry had thought that learning the language and navigating the ways of this strange medieval world, as well as finding why most of her magic seemed to malfunction, would prove a satisfactory adventure for their first test run.</p><p>And yet, when she found a group of dishevelled dwarves in her home with powerful names and grim determination following them like the putrid smell of fish oil they'd been coated in, she felt her heart twitch and its beat quicken in excitement at the thought that this dream would prove to have an actual <em>plot</em>, after all.</p><p>"The sounds carry on the water, my dear dwarves," she called softly at the whispering bundle of her passengers. "Especially on a foggy morning. I'd caution against speaking from now on. We have no way of knowing whether we have company."</p><p>She smiled when they jumped in alarm, caught in their discussion of her, but the amusement quickly faded when she peered at the thick fog hovering above the open lake. They would have to venture in soon.</p><p>No matter the amusing effect of her warning, it was also very much genuine—there was no way of knowing what lay in the white mass around them. And it wasn't only eavesdropping fishermen she was afraid of. The lake was vast but the waters around Lake-town were littered with stone ruins of the Esgaroth of old, and she didn't know her way through them as well as she'd made Bard believe, having flown over many more times than navigating a boat through.</p><p>Well, there was nothing to it now. She stood by her decision to be the one to ferry the dwarves across the lake. Bard had insisted on doing it, of course he had, that selfless hunk of a man; but there was a pack of orcs closing on the town and he had his children to protect in it.</p><p>On the deck in front of her, the dwarfs were now distributing the stolen weapons, whilst the last of them were climbing out the window of her house, the bars now propelled up on a spare iron poker she kept on the windowsill just for that purpose.</p><p>She'd nicked a sword for herself, absurdly heavy and unwieldy, the sheath now scratching the planks of her boat as it was obviously too long for her. Alas, she might be needing it in the coming days, so she'd better get used to hauling it around.</p><p>Thorin was the last dwarf to climb through her window. He landed gently on the boat, rocking it only slightly.</p><p>"There's no need for your son to go," Thorin said when Bain made to climb onto the barge as the dwarves' surety against Bard raising the alarm before they were far enough from the town.</p><p>"As he said, the trust must start somewhere," Thorin added.</p><p>Bard stood on one of the poles underneath her window, holding the boat anchored. He nodded solemnly. "You have my word that I won't raise the alarm before noon."</p><p>"That is all I require."</p><p>With another nod, of farewell this time, Bard made to propel the boat away from the wall, but Thorin stopped him still. "When the orcs arrive, tell them that Thorin Oakenshield has already left. They might leave your town alone, to hurry after us."</p><p>Bard slowly blinked at the dwarf. It took him a moment to reply, but when he did, his chin was raised high and proud. "Orcs are a plight that we all face—you shall not be the only ones to bear their viciousness. This town is several hundred men strong, against your thirteen. When the orcs come, we'll do our best to stop them."</p><p>Harry's chest swelled in pride at the man she chose for a friend in this strange world. It felt nice to have it confirmed that her instincts had not led her astray.</p><p>Bard spared one last look at Harry and paused in rather adorable confusion at her expression, which must have leaked some of her thoughts. "Take it easy," he only said though, as he pushed the boat away, propelling it onto the open lake and the thick fog above it.</p><p>Harry felt the smile slip from her face. She locked her jaw instead, squinted her tired eyes at the white mass in front of them, and tried to prepare herself for anything that could emerge from it.</p><hr/><p>The dwarves seated on the deck in front of her made for a bothersome distraction. With the sails folded, they were rowing, faces turned towards her as she stood back at the tiller.</p><p>No matter how hard she tried to focus on the waters, her eyes kept slipping, meeting the curious and distrusting glares of her passengers.</p><p>They weren't the first dwarves she'd met, or talked to. She made the effort to fly over to the Iron Hills every so often, opting to make her more conspicuous purchases out of sight of her neighbours in Lake-town. But Thorin and his friends were the first dwarves she'd exchanged more words than haggling.</p><p>She couldn't help but like them.</p><p>She refused to throw around words like <em>fate</em> and <em>purpose</em>, those always left a bad taste in her mouth, but even so, she recognised the company's determination as the kind that held that special potential to make a difference. Life had taught her to respect such courage. She'd seen it work wonders, even against higher odds than a group of sword-wielding dwarves had against an ancient and intelligent dragon. She couldn't help herself but want to aid them along their journey.</p><p>She'd known Bard would come to see it similarly. After all, <em>like recognises like</em>, even if people sometimes needed a bit of a nudge to move the process along. Harry didn't need Legilimency to see that both the bargeman and the Dwarf King had their hearts in the right spot. No indeed, she couldn't begrudge herself for wanting to aid these strangers in this strange world, even if it postponed her search for a safe way home. There was no rush when it came to that, after all.</p><p>"You're going to hurt yourself with that," Bofur spoke up, scoffing at the sword now tied to Harry's belt.</p><p>Yes, she'd carry on offering her aid even though the dwarves were certainly circumspect in showing their gratitude. Bofur was now wearing one of her baggy tunics, let out underneath the shoulders, of course, and donned one of her blankets, fashioned now into a cloak. No wonder people here took dwarves for greedy, ungrateful creatures.</p><p>"Possibly. But I'll sure hurt you first if you don't keep your mouth shut in this fog," she readily bit back. Oh, it felt good to be able to return rudeness with its like. She'd definitely spent too much time playing a demure boy.</p><p>She hid the yawn of the sleepless night into her elbow, unwilling to let go of the tiller even for a moment. She adjusted her grip, squared her shoulders and with eyes locked onto the fog the bow was piercing through, she carried on portraying the experienced sailor she'd proclaimed herself to be.</p><hr/><p>Harry decided a long time ago to treat this experience as real and save herself the headache of constantly mulling that question over.</p><p>Even if Luna failed to prove that Harry would be transported into a real plane of existence; even if she failed repeatedly and utterly, during all the discussions Hermione had insisted on having on the topic.</p><p>Merlin bless the brilliance of Hermione's scientific mind, but Harry chose other ways to preserve her sanity. She observed, she felt and she trusted her gut instincts not to lead her astray.</p><p>No matter that she fell asleep to get transported to Middle-earth, the place <em>felt</em> real and not at all like a dream. When Inge's small boy had slipped on the pathway in front of Harry's home and broken his leg, the pain on his face had looked real. When the split had gotten infected and the child had died a week later, his mother's grief had looked real.</p><p>What didn't just seem or look real, but very much hit Harry with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, was the shock of guilt she'd felt after witnessing the whole incident. Had there been something she could have done for the boy? She had treated infections before, and although she didn't have the potions or the charms at her disposal in this world, surely there was some memory of twenty-first-century medicine that could have made a difference?</p><p>After that incident, the decision had been made to avoid the very real guilty conscience, no matter how adamant Hermione had been at disproving the existence of this world. When she'd wake, her memories would probably stay with her—even the guilty ones, and that was all that mattered.</p><p>After all, <em>of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?</em></p><p>The trouble was, avoiding guilt often meant doing her best to help. And her best was rather a lot, even with her magic currently acting up in a way she was still cataloguing. That was a very narrow path to walk—magic threatened attention she wasn't at all willing to bear. She knew how quickly this dream could turn into a nightmare.</p><p>In Lake-town, she worked diligently on her reputation as an eccentric foreigner, a persona that could hide most of the oddities her aid sometimes caused. Well, frankly, at first, she <em>had been </em>an eccentric foreigner, balking even at the simplest of tasks. No surprise she'd been quickly taken for a simpleton when even laundry had proven a challenge with neither cleaning charms, nor electricity. It'd been only natural to feed the impression into a disguise.</p><p>With a group of strangers, though, she had very little ground to build her excuses on. Especially if these strangers were thirteen grumpy dwarves and one odd hobbit, who all already seemed wary of her for some reason.</p><p>That was why she decided not to step in when Kíli's injury had taken a sharp turn for the worse; at least not until the dwarves ran out of all other options to help him.</p><p>The young dwarf had been fighting a fever throughout the whole night. He seemed to have broken through by the morning—at least he'd been fully conscious when they'd set out of Lake-town, and seemed still alright when the morning sun finally chased the fog away and to Harry's great relief (and admittedly, a bit of surprise) they found themselves on the right course to the firth of the Mountain River.</p><p>Her boat was a small vessel, with very little privacy. With Harry sat at the back by the tiller, she had a prime view of everything happening on her deck. She couldn't miss the sudden sweaty sheen of Kíli's rapidly paling face, the way his teeth clenched to muffle the gasps of pain. Nor could she have missed the worried glances that his friends kept sending his way. Most foreboding, though, was the frustrated look of the company's healer.</p><p>By noon, they made it onto the river proper and finally decided to stop for lunch at its bank. The lad was once again falling in and out of feverish consciousness. It was then that Oin finally decided to speak up.</p><p>"Thorin."</p><p>His voice was rather loaded with meaning, and Harry immediately put down her cheese and biscuit.</p><p>"The wound is infected," Thorin preempted. "What do you need us to do?"</p><p>The healer frowned. "I need you to find that bastard of an Orc who shot the arrow and ask him what sort of Mahal cursed poison he'd coated it with."</p><p>"What are you saying, Oin?"</p><p>"I'm saying I'm out of my wits here. Something else festers in that wound, and it's not responding to the treatment as it should. I can't think of anything else to try."</p><p>"Then, we need to send him back to Lake-town, surely they-"</p><p>"I don't think Men will have the answer, either. This isn't a natural wound, Thorin. Something dark makes it resist the herbs, something that could be combated only by equally unnatural means."</p><p>Harry narrowed her eyes at that sinister answer. At the same time, Balin, the only polite dwarf, took a sharp intake of breath. "Thorin. A Morgul blade would explain-"</p><p>"It wasn't a blade, it was an arrow that struck him," Thorin shot back so quickly that it was clear his thoughts were running along the same path as Balin's, although the rest of them were left staring in confusion. "Tales never mention Morgul-made arrows. Even if there should be any, they wouldn't be given to mere orcs."</p><p>"Not just any orcs, but the Pale Orc, who swore to end the line of Durin. How are we to know what tricks he can employ?"</p><p>"Gandalf!" the hobbit breathed out, his higher voice breaking through the concerned rumble of the dwarves. "Gandalf promised to meet us at the Overlook today. He would- he would surely know more."</p><p>They cut their lunch short after that, hurriedly piled back onto the boat and started their mad dash up the Mountain River. Whilst the dwarves kept rowing with strength and zeal that left Harry staring, Harry surreptitiously let out a weak Banishment Charm or two into the sails. If anyone commented on the sudden burst of speed, well, then she was ready to claim to be an excellent sailor. No one did, though, so focused on the unconscious dwarf in their midst.</p><p>And yet, the current was strong and they moved up against it at a pace that left the dwarves swearing in Khuzdul in impatience. Above their heads, the sun started its decline.</p><hr/><p>They found no wizards at the Overlook.</p><p>Besides her acute sympathy for the company's frustration, Harry felt her own selfish disappointment. Meeting one of this world's wizards- well, that could have certainly proved interesting, if nothing else.</p><p>What they did discover though, was that black veins now trailed up Kíli's leg, pulsing like little worms under his skin.</p><p>Thorin bowed over the side of the boat, down to the boards where his nephew twitched in feverish dreams. He touched Kíli's forehead with his, and stayed still for a long moment, before he straightened up towards his other nephew.</p><p>"Take Oin and go back to the elves. Fíli- whatever they ask, we'll give it."</p><p>With one last look at the unconscious dwarf, the King clasped Fíli's shoulder. "Make haste."</p><p>He turned to Harry, then, as in an afterthought. "Will you take them?"</p><p>Harry shot a futile glance at Lake-town in the far distance that could very well get attacked by Orcs any minute now, but knew there was only one possible answer to give. She nodded at the dwarf, quickly turning away from him to board the boat, but the look in his eyes lingered in her mind for a while longer. She safely recognised the despondent certainty in them, the certainty of sending them onto a fool's errand. She was also rather familiar with the stubborn hope that warred with it.</p><hr/><p>The journey down the river proved the opposite of their arduous rowing against it. In a fraction of their time upstream, they were back to the open lake. They slowed down considerably then, not only because they lost the current, but because the two dwarves had to let go of the rows and held onto the third one, who started thrashing violently on the boards, making the whole boat wobble dangerously.</p><p>Harry abandoned most of her caution and fed the sails with a nearly constant stream of weak Banishment Charms, to propel the boat as much as to stabilize it through the worst of the rocking. She noticed Oin look up from his charge at one point, eyebrows raised at the calm water of the Lake streaming past them, but he made no comments.</p><p>"There are currents under the surface if you know where to find them," Harry provided her prepared answer anyway, maybe a bit too earnestly.</p><p>He just furrowed his brows and got back to applying the paste he'd made from tiny white petals. Harry had seen him stealing the herb from her drying racks.</p><p>And yet, even with the boat soaring ahead on a windless day, they didn't seem to be fast enough for the quickly deteriorating state of the young dwarf.</p><p>"Laddie, let's make for the shore. There's no point in going further," Oin mumbled gently when dusk had fallen and they were only three quarters of the distance to the Forest River. There were still many hours away from reaching the borders of the Woodland Realm, and who knew how further yet from reaching any elven healers. Foam had now started dribbling from Kíli's mouth, and pathetic keening choked up from his throat in between his seizures.</p><p>"No," Fíli commanded. "We keep on going."</p><p>The old dwarf sighed but did not argue further.</p><p>"What's happening to him?" Harry asked into the heavy silence, watching Kíli heaved his painful breaths in utter exhaustion. His last fit had almost flipped the whole boat over.</p><p>"If Balin's right, he's fighting shadows and darkness that's leading him away from us," the old healer explained in a grave whisper.</p><p>Harry suspected something as such. She could sense the foul tendrils of dark magic tethering around the lad, even without any detection charms at her disposal.</p><p>She also suspected she just, <em>just </em>might have an answer to it.</p><p>This was it then. She couldn't <em>not</em> act any longer.</p><p>"What would- I mean, what will the elves do to help him?"</p><p>"The wonders of elven magic are a privilege to witness. Only few have."</p><p>That was a rather useless reply. Harry glimpsed into his eyes briefly, and tapped into his mind for even a more fleeting moment, stealing just one surface thought of pointed ears and light and chanting. She could work with that.</p><p>She threw one last silent Banishment at the sails, aiming first at the top of the mass and then flicking her palm down to the base, as she'd practiced for the last many months, to make the charm land as gently as possible. The boat still surged forward.</p><p>"Take over the steering for a moment," she told Oin. "Let me try something."</p><p>The dwarf only shot her a dubious glance and did not move from Kíli's side. She rolled her eyes at his distrust; she'd already faced his scepticism once when he couldn't fathom she'd picked the apparently poisonous herbs in her home not for thinking them medicinal, but for their strong fragrance that could hold back the stench of the town.</p><p>"I'm no healer," she once again acceded. "But there's a chant my… <em>tribe</em> uses to keep away the shadows. It might help."</p><p>She was hesitant to offer more hope than that.</p><p>"Oin, do as he says," Fíli ordered when the old dwarf still hesitated.</p><p>The healer shot her one last look of warning, as if she could make the situation any worse, and went to grab the tiller in her stead. She stepped around him to kneel at Kíli's side.</p><p>Harry gently swiped away the sweat-matted hair off his forehead and laid her palm on his clammy skin, careful so the tip of her wand hidden in her sleeve would touch Kíli's temple. She closed her eyes and frowned in concentration for several long seconds, knowing they were unnecessary for her sake, but willing to put up a believable show for the conscious dwarves in the boat.</p><p>She knew the complex charm would take. She knew it would take for the same reason she knew most less complicated ones wouldn't: due to hours and hours of experimentation. What she couldn't know was whether it was the right tool to use against this world's dark magic—after all, today was the first time she'd ever crossed it.</p><p>But she refused to believe there was no reason behind the seemingly random selection of magic this world <em>permitted</em> her to use, and the magic it wouldn't let take effect. It wasn't a matter of complexity; rather the opposite. All her education failed to explain why Patronus would work but most first year charms wouldn't; the same way it left her in the dark as to why the simplest of transfiguration wouldn't take, not even a needle from a toothpick, but she could go ahead through her animagus change as smoothly as back home.</p><p>She had to force down a smirk then, laughing in self-deprecation at how desperate she found herself for the Patronus to react to the dark magic of this world. Besides already wanting to save the life of the dwarf, of course. However, it would also be a clue to this magic conundrum that had been baffling her since the very start of this adventure.</p><p>She took one last calming breath and turned her focus back onto the dwarf currently dying at her knees. With the memory of Ron catching the bouquet at Luna's wedding, Harry felt the spell already springing from her wand, as her magic followed the familiar intentions faster than her mind could walk through the process. She still pronounced the incantation for her audience, though.</p><p>"<em>Expecto Patronum</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The very first Hobbit fanfiction I read was </p><p>  <b>Fate Be Changed by Araceil.</b><br/>Coincidently, it's also a Harry Potter crossover, with Harry reborn into a Hobbit lass that joins the guest instead of Bilbo. It's a classic AU of the quest, very well written, with major divergences and Harry's past life coming into play only at the end, but I remember enjoying the dynamics of the Company throughout their whole adventure (maybe just skipping through some angsty parts on my second read). </p><p>Sadly, Araceil pulled her stories from all sites. But maybe the Internet hides a copy somewhere?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Whirlwind: Harry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Excellent, you've stayed with me so far! FYI, these are my plans for the story:</p><p>The rest of the Hobbit arc is written, and I'll be posting it in these rather shortish, snappish chapters in the coming weeks, often with just a couple of days in between, if real life allows.</p><p>This first part, which I've dubbed "The Whirlwind" to mark Harry's rather turbulent and all-around confusing entrance, is only just the beginning. There'll be two more arcs. I have both planned out but I'm only now starting to write them. It'll be quite the journey - not an epoch, because I like to keep the plot tight and always moving to a conclusion - but certainly an adventure.</p><p>I'm looking forward to sharing it with you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>Expecto Patronum."</em></p><p>The reaction was instantaneous, and rather violent at that.</p><p>The moment the first wisps of light touched the boy's skin, he surged up and bucked, writhing out of Fíli's grip. His flailing arm struck Harry across the chest, knocking her back on her bottom. The boat rocked violently with the movement, a wave of cold water spilt over its side, splashing Harry's shoulders and leaking down her neck inside her shirt.</p><p>She watched helplessly as Kíli twitched and jerked on the deck, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep her wand by his temple with all this thrashing. She looked pleadingly at Fíli across his brother, ready to explain that this was probably <em>good</em>, that it was making a difference.</p><p>The dwarf wasn't looking at her. Instead, he shared a glance and a nod with Oin. Next, Oin was pulling the tiller sharply to the left. The boat was still gliding under the push of Harry's last spell, and obediently turned towards the shore. A few seconds later, they reached the line of strong roots growing out of the water surface, and the boat came to a stop with a sudden jerk. Harry winced as the bow wedged itself in between the wooden shoots and the tip of the mass got tangled in the canopy above them.</p><p>The boat stopped rocking, though. With it now secured, the two dwarves leapt onto the body of their kin, holding his limbs down with their weight.</p><p>"Again," Fíli commanded.</p><p>Harry gladly obeyed.</p><p>Risking the weakest of weak <em>Impediment </em>jinxes, she made the dwarf's frantic thrashing lose some of its ferocity, before she once again put the tip of her hidden wand to his temple. Her other hand grabbed him by the nape of his neck, securing him further.</p><p>She didn't bother putting up any shows for her audience this time, no one on the boat was in a mood for it, least of all her.</p><p>She once again recalled her go-to memory, and as she felt the Charm sprung up to her call, she let it out from her wand straight into the dwarf's body.</p><p>He <em>screamed</em>.</p><p>A blood-curdling cry of pain escaped from his throat, carried above the water and echoed back at them off the opposite shore. And below the dwarf's howls of suffering, she heard a wail of a different kind, not at all human, chilling her down to the very bones. She redoubled her efforts.</p><p>Harry wasn't aiming for a corporeal Patronus, that wouldn't help anyone right now. Instead, she pushed the full might of her Stag into the lad's body, starting at his temple and pushing it all the way to the ends of his limbs, scorching everything sinister in her path.</p><p>The Patronus Charm was hardly intended to be used in such a way, but she'd long stopped caring what other wizards' and witches' intentions for their spells were.</p><p>Her magic swept through the dwarf's body with such ferocity that she failed to observe what exactly it purged from him. The dark strains lingering around the lad had raked on her senses, until at one point, they no longer did.</p><p>Well, she'd review the memory later, and hopefully- Oh. There was that minor detail of her Pensieve now being shattered into thousands pieces. Oh, <em>bugger</em>.</p><p>She had more leads than that, though. Balin had called the arrow Morgul-made. That name sounded vaguely familiar—had she read it in the books pilfered from Dale? She'd have a proper look.</p><p>She let go off the magic when Kíli's screams weakened into exhausted gasps and his body became laden in their hold.</p><p>She sat back on her heels, feeling rather breathless herself, as if the sleepless night and rushed day on the water suddenly caught up with her.</p><p>"Kíli?"</p><p>Across the prone body, Fíli was gently brushing the hair away from his brother's eyes. "Are you with us?"</p><p>Kíli let out a few shallow gasps before his breathing slowed down enough to speak. "Aye, Fee," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm not going anywhere."</p><hr/><p>"That was a mighty thing you've done for us, lad."</p><p>Kíli had fallen into exhausted sleep soon after Harry had worked her magic. He stayed out even through Oin's not so gentle dressing of his now cleanly looking wound.</p><p>Harry fared on the opposite side of the spectrum. After the initial wave of fatigue had faded, she found herself suddenly filled with nervous energy and grim anticipation. With one problem dealt with, she realised how late it had gotten during their mad dash to get to the elves. The light of the day was almost gone, and far in the distance, she could see the lamps of Lake-town already lit; many more of them than on any other night. Torches tottered along the bridge to the shore and she could hear fade shouting, although it didn't sound like fighting yet.</p><p>Oin and Fíli were shooting her curious glances, even if their suspicion was now buried under heaps of relief and gratitude. She knew it would resurface, though. She could already hear it in Oin's voice—the undertones of wonder and inquiry.</p><p>It was time to leave.</p><p>"I'll be leaving you here. Take the boat. I know where the trackers hide theirs on this shore; I'll make my own way to Lake-town."</p><p>"We can very well take you there," Fíli argued with a frown of confusion.</p><p>She quickly shook her head. "You should give the town a wide berth—they wouldn't look favourably at any strangers tonight. Go, catch up to your friends."</p><p>She knew how much they wanted to do just that, she relied on it actually, and indeed, they didn't argue further. She made to jump over the side of the boat, but Fíli's arm halted her.</p><p>"We won't forget what you've done tonight. The House of Durin is in your debt."</p><p>Harry made to brush his pledge away, as she always had in the past; she'd never taken a reward for aid she'd freely offered. But this time, she hesitated. She was new in this world, with precious few allies. And the favour of the royals of Erebor was not a thing to scoff at.</p><p>She clasped his forearm as he clutched hers. "Kíli seems like a good lad to me. I'm glad it worked."</p><p>She really was, and not only because Kíli now appeared to be on his way to recovery. Her Patronus reacted to the dark magic of this world. The Patronus Charm belonged to the limited and seemingly illogical selection of charms that she was able to cast, and it had an effect upon the dark magic of this world.</p><p>This wasn't the time to ponder the possible significance of this, though. She'd have plenty of opportunities to experiment later, when her friends' lives weren't in danger.</p><p>As if summoned by her thoughts, a scream of pain cut through the stillness of the evening lake. Harry's eyes traced the sound back to Lake-town, just as more shouts carried to their ears.</p><p>Nothing else was said. She jumped onto the root the boat was still resting on, and pushed the bow. It didn't move by much. She was a thought away from banishing it with her magic, but Fíli was suddenly next to her, and easily heaved the boat off the tree.</p><p>He quickly jumped back in, grasping the oar next to Oin's, whilst she pushed them further into the open water. They exchanged one last look of farewell and a nod, before she spun on her heel to search for a way to the shore.</p><p>She was very much tempted to transform here and now and immediately take her flight to aid her friends. But Oin's and Fíli's eyes were turned to her in their backwards rowing, and she read much about the ability of dwarves to see in the dark. She had to get out of their sight first.</p><p>She padded along the narrow root as close to the shore as it allowed, but it disappeared under the surface still a few metres short, with no other branches to bridge the gap in reach. Knowing she wouldn't make that jump easily nor elegantly, she hastily unfastened the clanky sword from her side and swung it to the shore with a bit of help from her banisher. It soared through the gap and disappeared in the bushes.</p><p>She quickly followed, her jump also buoyed by magic, a weak Acceleration Charm. Unfortunately, Cushioning Charm seemed to be an impossibility in this world. Knowing this, she tried to gentle her landing into a roll, but the thick bushes and dead branches prevented her from falling softly. She felt something hard rip her trousers and probably the skin underneath, but she paid it no mind.</p><p>She grabbed the sword, fastened its belt around her hips and turned into her animagus form, already mid-jump. A beat later, the dwarves saw a peregrine falcon shot from the trees and head for Lake-town as quickly as her wings could carry her.</p><hr/><p>It seemed she'd still missed the fight.</p><p>Still a mile away, she could see orcs on wargs fleeing across the bridge into the woods, chased by a pair of- elves? Yes, a blond elf and a ginger elleth, clothed in the armor of the Woodland guards. Well, she'd have to get that story later.</p><p>She quickly swept her gaze along the bridge, her falcon eyes easily picking out details even through the distance and lack of light. She scanned the fallen figures, and found six guards among the orcs. Four of them were still breathing. Briefly, she considered landing to aid them but she could already see a group of townsmen rushing for the bridge with stretchers carried in between them.</p><p>She flew over their heads and finally reached the town proper. Staying high enough to scan the entirety of the town, she could easily trace the path the fighting had taken—from the bridge towards the northern edge of the town, with scattered orc corpses along the pathways.</p><p>Her hunter's eyes didn't pick up on any frantic movements in the maze of streets. There was barely any activity at all—it seemed most people were wisely staying inside their homes. A squad of guards stood unmoving in front of the Master's house. A group of men were striding back to the centre of town. Bard was one of them, looking unharmed. She let out a sigh of relief, mangled into a strange tweet by her beak.</p><p>Either the orcs had swept through the town extremely quickly, or the fighting had started earlier than the first scream had reached them. Either way, it seemed to be over now and Lake-town was left standing.</p><p>Feeling her panic ebbing down, she dove into the streets. Slowing down her flight, she glided above the water, glancing through the windows she passed. Old Jorn's widow, safely in her bed, probably snoring her way through all the commotion. Eryka and her four babes, covering underneath their dining table. Inge and Jarl standing ready with knives by their window. Sigrid, Tilda and Bain pacing frantically in their kitchen.</p><p>The furious beating in her chest slowed down a fraction with every friend she saw alive and unharmed.</p><p>She landed in the shadows of Bard's house and changed back to being human, knowing Bard was just a street away and quickly approaching.</p><p>She met him by the stairs to his front door.</p><p>He only just avoided crushing into her, breaking his stride on the last moment, as she stepped out of the shadows.</p><p>He shook off his surprise and grabbed her shoulders, firmly. "Harry! Where have you been?"</p><p>She took her chance and stepped into his arms fully, embracing him quickly and not that tightly, aware that her bindings were not a foolproof disguise by far, and certainly not so from a close inspection. She could feel him freeze, but to hell with it, she was relieved to see him alive, to see all her friends alive, even as she mourned the two dead guards lying on the bridge. She was a foreigner in these parts; she could be forgiven for overstepping boundaries.</p><p>"There were complications," she said and took pity on him, stepping back. "But all is fine now."</p><p>He grimaced and she immediately grew concerned again. "What happened?"</p><p>"The orcs tracked the dwarves down by their smell. To your house."</p><p>Oh. She had seen the path of fighting from up above, traced it to the northern side of town; she should have figured out they'd targeted her house.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Harry. It was me who took the dwarves there."</p><p>"Was anyone hurt? Kallan and little Jorry?" she asked of her closest neighbours, steadily turning more nervous by Bard's troubled expression.</p><p>"Everyone's alright. There was a lot of fighting, though. Not much of your home survived intact."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>Bard had not been exaggerating. They'd picked up his three children, and upon Bard's urging, also a wicker basket and a crate, and made their way to her house to scope the damage.</p><p>The back wall was missing, offering a rather beautiful view of the open lake. Her hideous tapestries that she'd painstakingly gathered to stove away the ever-present draft, were all in taters. Her notes, the remains of the wizarding tent, the shards of her Pensieve—all scattered along the floor, chased around by the wind from the open lake.</p><p>"Well-" she started, ready to offer quick platitudes to wave away Bard's concern, only to choke on them as she realised she actually felt rather bitter about losing the few comforts she'd managed to build for herself in this harsh world. Not to mention the mementos of her real life. Not for the first time, she wondered whether they'd also ceased to exist back in England.</p><p>There was no use crying over spilled milk, though, or pondering questions she would only get answered once this adventure was completely over. In the meantime, if she was feeling particularly homesick, she could always fly back to the site of her landing, and swim in the pile of her other broken and shattered possessions.</p><p>The attempt at levity didn't quite chase away the familiar unease, though. Her right hand moved as on its own accord, squeezing the left wrist where her elder wand would normally rest.</p><p>"You can stay with us as long as you need to," Bard offered, his voice bringing her back to the present.</p><p>She sent him a grateful smile.</p><p>Feeling forlorn still, she couldn't quite stop herself from voicing her sour thoughts. "As long as the dragon doesn't burn it, too."</p><p>Of course it was at that moment the floor beneath their feet shook as a thunder of a rumbling seemed to travel through the water of the lake.</p><p>Harry allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment, knowing the night just got that much longer.</p><hr/><p>"There are orcs out there!" Alfrid shouted. "You would have us walking into their arms?"</p><p>"There will be a dragon in here!" Bard shouted back from across the wall of guards. "I'd rather try my luck against a pack of wounded orcs!"</p><p>As per their plan, the five of them raised the alarm once again today, and tried to usher the people out of the very noticeable, very flammable target. It hadn't taken long for the Master to intercept them on the market square.</p><p>Harry used the moment Bard was occupied and slipped away into a narrow alley. She was only too happy to leave Bard to this particular part of the plan. She could hear his shouts carrying through the streets below her as she transformed mid-jump and frantically flapped her wings to gain height.</p><p>"Run for the cover of the forest. Or sail your boats to the other side of the lake. But leave this wooden trap!"</p><p>The Lonely Mountain loomed on the dark horizon in front of her. From the outside, it looked deceptively inconspicuous, even as the booms and cracks of collapsing stone travelled all the way to the lake and created ripples on its surface.</p><p>Harry climbed high enough in the air to find a good current, beating her wings in a steady rhythm towards the Mountain gates, all the while cursing the impatience of dwarves. They couldn't have waited one more day for their friends to join them, and give everyone and themselves a night of rest?</p><hr/><p>It had taken the dwarves the best part of a day to travel to the Mountain by boat and on foot. By air, Harry crossed that same distance in a matter of minutes.</p><p>It wasn't as instantaneous as Apparation, but given the flatout failure she was experiencing with all the means of magical transportation in this world, she was incredibly grateful for an animagus form with wings.</p><p>It'd taken her only about five minutes to fly over but another five minutes later, she was still outside, fluttering frantically up and down along the gates, looking for the way in the dwarves had taken. Her peregrine eyes were very keen, much keener than human's, but they were made for spotting prey, <em>moving </em>prey. She must have been missing some detail, an opening in the shadows, or- or something. Her brain was overwhelmed by the constant stream of suggestions her trained mind was providing, a useless stream of spells for the occasion, none of which she could cast in this world. Revealing Charm, Warmth-tracing Charm, Wind-colouring Charm-</p><p>And all this while, sounds of fighting carried from behind the barred gates; shouting, collapsing stones, booms of explosions and through it all, a sinister voice that ruffled her feathers, and very much not in a good way. Stupid, secretive, suspicious dwarves! <em>I'm here ready to help you, but go ahead and die inside all alone for your suspicions and secrets!</em></p><p>She paused after the last thought crossed her mind.</p><p>The next moment, she was landing on the lowest rampart, changing back into a witch, and throwing a <em>Bombarda</em> at the barricade in front of her.</p><p>Her first curse didn't do much else than dent the stone. She frowned at it in confusion; she knew for a fact that her <em>Bombarda</em> usually rained much more damage than that. Intrigued, she stepped closer, laying her palm on the stone. She let out a breath of surprise, her eyes widening in fascination. There it was- the telltale tinkling of magic, springing up in response to her intrusion. Not a layer over the gates, but strangely woven straight into the stone.</p><p>Once again, she was rather forcefully reminded of how little she knew about the world she found herself in.</p><p>She had read mentions of dwarven magic in her books, but she had taken them for exegarations, poetic embellishments of their craft. But here she stood, with a crude ward of a sort chiming against her fingers, thrumming not only through the ancient gates but also through the upheaved stones of the crude barricade, put together by a dragon of all creatures, which meant the magic surpassed the physical anchors the dwarves must have woven, <em>somehow</em>, into the stones, but rather laid over the whole gates as a ward built on intent-</p><p>
  <em>Not the time.</em>
</p><p>She took a step back and let her wand slip from its holster into her palm. She clutched it firmly, and narrowed her eyes at the stone in front of her. <em>I'm here to help your own.</em></p><p>The next spell blasted from her wand with a bright beam and did much more than just dent. Chunks of stone and debris burst out all around her, the magic of the spell stirring them safely away from the caster, but raining on everything else around her. And yet, she didn't get through—there was still more stone at the end of the shallow tunnel she'd just hollowed out.</p><p>She shook her head to get rid of the echoes of the boom, deaf for a moment in the sudden silence. She didn't know what had truly made the difference, whether it'd been just the strength behind the second spell or whether the protections were sentient enough to understand her intent. She raised her hand for the third attempt, and then paused.</p><p>There was something wrong with the silence. Her ears had popped, and yet, the quiet prevailed, stretching wider than before.</p><p>She realised only a beat later what was different. The fighting inside the mountain had stopped. Had they heard her knocking?</p><p>And then the deep and utterly wrong voice boomed across the halls and through the stone again. Her eyes widened when she realised the sound was rapidly getting louder.</p><p>No more thoughts were spared as she jumped on the balustrade, and then off it, with a powerful Acceleration Charm to propel her higher. She changed mid-air, shooting up towards the sky with her wings tucked close.</p><p>The next moment, the stones underneath her burst out. Something <em>big</em> surged past her and she got caught up in the whirlwind it left behind.</p><p>She lost sense of the skies and the ground, fluttering uselessly against the strong, erratic winds that were battering at her feathers from all sides. And then something hot and bright was raining down on her, spraying her feathers and- <em>burning through</em>! She managed to control her flight into a sharp spin, and then whipped her wings to full spread, shaking of the- <em>molten gold? </em>Was the dragon really raining gold? Oh, bloody hell.</p><p>She finally found her bearings then, righting her flight still a safe few metres away from crashing into the ground. Her relief was short lived, though, quickly replaced by her senses shouting at her that something was terribly wrong.</p><p>It took her a moment to discern it was her animagus form augmenting her instincts, unfamiliar as the feeling was. A peregrine falcon was a hunter, the fastest and usually the highest flying one in the skies. It did not take well to be upped by a bigger predator.</p><p>That was her first indication of what she'd find when she'd look up. And then she didn't have to look up at all, because the imposing silhouette, black against the starry sky, the <em>dragon</em>, was speeding towards Lake-town on its great powerful wings and within a few seconds, he was well in front of her.</p><p>She first felt a shock of frustration, because she was once again left behind and rushing to catch up to a fight; for the third time today, no less. Next, a wall of terror hit her, for the dwarves in the Mountain behind her—had the dragon killed them all?—and then for her friends on the lake, about to be visited by a fiery beast. A beast that did not look as much worse for wear as she'd hoped the fight with the dwarves would have rendered it.</p><p>And then, the dragon spoke again, his words carried by the wind and likely by magic, too, for they couldn't have reached her otherwise. For the first time, they weren't distorted by the echo of the cavernous dwarven halls, and she could understand.</p><p>"...I am fire. I am <em>death</em>."</p><p>Nevermind frustration or fear, a stronger emotion boiled up through both; righteous anger filled her veins and strengthened her wings, incensed by the sheer needlessness of such evil.</p><p>'<em>Death'?</em> <em>We shall see about that.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've always enjoyed stories where Harry's being a great character even without the "Boy-who-lived" moniker building up his reputation, or the Prophecy paving some of his path for him. It lets his courage and selflessness shine even more, as he carries on just as he always did - doing what is right.</p><p>Lots of these plots usually happen with Harry travelling off to different AU settings (like I'm attempting here), but there's one rather old story that just portrayed Harry's life as it could have gone had there been no Prophecy to start with. Harry's an ordinary soldier there, apart from the fact that there's very little ordinary about him. An action-packed, very enjoyable and yet truly poignant read:</p><p>  <b><a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6691692/1/Simple-and-Clean">Simple and Clean</a> by DigiFruit</b><br/>.</p><p>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Whirlwind: Harry & Bard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had taken the dwarves a day to cross the distance between Lake-town and Erebor. It'd taken Harry less than ten minutes to fly up there.</p><p>The dragon glided down to the lake in thirty short seconds.</p><p>Harry was left behind, heaving her wings as powerfully as she could, but she only slowly, <em>too slowly,</em> gained the altitude to go for a proper dive.</p><p>
  <em>Fastest living animal, my arse.</em>
</p><p>Smaug had less than a minute head start but she still dreaded the devastation a dragon could unleash on a wooden town in those long seconds. She was left to watch with her too keen eyes, powerless to help.</p><p>The dragon slowed down his flight for his first sweep over the roofs. She spared a quick thought for her friends, hoping they were far away from being in the dragon's way. Maybe they were hiding in the forest along the shores, the torches in the town lit only as a decoy. But no, she could see movement on the pathways and on the canals between the houses. There were boats quickly sailing away from the town, and people rushing across the bridge, but she could also see many of her neighbours still trapped on the streets, running now in panic and chaos.</p><p>The dragon heaved in a powerful breath. Harry fancied she could feel the crackling of the air even through the distance. A moment later, he reared his neck back to let the fiery breath out, and Harry squinted her eyes in anticipation of a blinding glare of flames. Instead, only a spray of liquid burst out of the dragon's throat, fresh crimson blood tinted with putrid green.</p><p>What the bloody- <em>The dwarves</em>!</p><p>They must have injured the dragon somewhat, after all.</p><p>They'd talked about the idea last night, about their <em>flask flame</em> that Harry had imagined as a molotov cocktail mixed with gunpowder. It had indeed sounded rather potent if it was able to blast out whole mines. <em>Or a dragon's throat, it seems</em>, she added with spiteful glee.</p><p>The dragon overflew the edge of the town in his surprise. His empty heaves turned into an enraged roar then, the fury of it not at all diminished by his painful coughs. He spun in the air, flew back the short distance and unleashed his rage at the houses on the edge of the town, attacking roofs and boats with his claws, clawed wings and powerful hinged legs. The true shrieks of terror started then.</p><p>Smaug hauled his way across the town, jumping from one roof to another, leaving a trail of collapsed houses and screaming humans in his wake. It took Harry a moment to spot the lonely figure among all that chaos, but spot Bard she did, standing higher than others, on the last tier of the watchtower, firing an arrow at the raging dragon. Her eyes followed its trajectory easily, and she saw how it bounced off Smaug's scales, without the dragon even noticing.</p><p>Another figure caught her eye then, moving with a sharp purpose through the chaotic bedlam of the rest, and she recognised Bain. He was running up the watchtower, a few landings down from its top, a long arrow made of black iron in his hand.</p><p><em>Of course</em> he'd bring the black arrow, that fool of a romantic. She remembered the legend Bain had recounted last night, and no matter how small the actual chance of hitting a tiny spot on the moving dragon was, Harry was enough of a romantic fool herself to truly believe Bard and Bain capable of it.</p><p>She'd witnessed such feats in the past, seen pure determination and urgency tip the scale into someone's favour even against seemingly more impossible odds. From her experience though, such heroic feats were born out of desperation, and were often preceded by a lot of suffering. She'd long grown out of waiting for the chance for the lucky shot to finally present itself.</p><p>So even now, all those musings of legends and black arrows were pointless, because she was finally close enough.</p><p>She pulled her wings tight to her body and <em>dove.</em></p><p>Over the long decades of her life, Harry had never lost her love of flying. She had been overjoyed when she'd found out her animagus form. Frankly, it'd been only the idea of <em>having actual wings</em> that had pushed her through the arduous process of learning the transformation.</p><p>Even before this Middle-earthen adventure, Harry used to go flying often, sometimes for work, but mostly just for the sport, diving at neck-breaking speed for the rush of adrenaline. Well, there was actually no such thing as neck-breaking speed for peregrine falcons, whose every feature was made for generating and surviving velocity unparalleled to anyone in the (mundane) animal world.</p><p>It was only in Middle-earth she had used those skills for actual hunting. In the first harsh weeks of this adventure, when she hadn't yet been ready to join the local society, she stayed afar, observing. In the wilderness, she'd been forced to overcome her squeamishness for the sheer practicality of feeding a falcon body rather than a witch's, and flew to kill for the first time.</p><p>As such, now, not only could she dive and break and glide like a bird's version of a Wronski, she could also dive and catch and hold on. True, a dragon was rather bigger than her usual prey, it wouldn't buckle under her attack and take the brunt of their crash. Well, it was a good thing she'd always been good at improvising.</p><p>She dove and broke and held on.</p><p>She was on the dragon in a mere fraction of a second. The moment her talons wrapped around the edge of a scale on Smaug's brow, she changed back into a human. The dragon's head sunk a smidge under her sudden weight but before Smaug could process the intrusion, Harry unsheathed her clunky sword, grasped the hilt with both hands and, using her whole upper body, swung the blade down, around his brow and into his eye.</p><p>The sword didn't go far in but it went far enough. The dragon wailed in pain, thrashing his head in violent sweeps, but Harry held on tight. Her feet were wedged in between his brow scales, her hands gripped the hilt of the sword and her taut muscles kept her secured in between those two points. She felt the dragon's massive body flail, felt it jerk and then lift off into one last desperate jump to get away from the attacker, but she didn't pay it any mind. Instead, she banished the sword, sinking it further into the dragon's eye and brain, all the way to its hilt.</p><p>The pierced eyeball dissolved into a mess of liquids and tissue, spilling over her hands, and Harry grimaced in distaste. Then, a human scream pierced through the sounds of the dragon's dying roars, sounding close, very close and rather familiar, and Harry whipped her head up. Bard stood on the watchtower, frozen, with a bow taut; Bain on the landing underneath his father, also staring at her with his eyes wide.</p><p>Well, <em>bugger</em>.</p><p>The dragon was still quite a distance from the torches of the town. Was there any chance they wouldn't recognise her in the dark?</p><p>A beat later, she realised the dragon, albeit probably quite braindead now, was still moving, gliding under the power of his last jump, aimed straight at the watchtower.</p><p>She banished the hilt of the sword sharply to the side and swung her body from the dragon's head to aid the charm with her weight. It did the trick–Smaug's head twitched and his body obediently followed the movement, the last feat of this powerful beast. Its muscles crumbled a second later, but by that point, they were safely past the watchtower, now quickly approaching the roofs in their uncoordinated fall.</p><p>Spurred by the success of the idea, Harry tried to puppeteer the corpse further. She quickly banished the talons of the one wing she could see, propelling it away from the body. The wing spread sharply, membranes tearing, and the lopsided maneuver sent the whole body into a mad spin. It did the trick, though, their fall had slowed down, and its angle had sharpened: instead of tearing a path of destruction through the town, the corpse would hopefully collapse only on a house or two; Harry hoped.</p><p>Before she could celebrate, though, she needed to get out of the mad tangle of sharp talons and claws that were spinning around her body on their way to the water's surface. Holding onto the slippery hilt, she briefly contemplated changing back into a peregrine. Her smaller body was definitely more agile in the air, and could get her out of this pickle unharmed, even if she currently had trouble knowing where up and down was. On the other hand, the peregrine's neck was much easier to snap by a flailing talon than that of a witch.</p><p>She did promise Luna to try her hardest not to die her way out of this adventure, if at all possible.</p><p>Choosing bruises and broken limbs over the risk of dying, Harry stayed a witch, molding her body as close to the corpse as possible. As she braced for impact, Harry idly wondered how refreshing it was, trying to avoid death for a different reason than just the inconvenience of it.</p><p>The corpse crashed into the lake a second later, taking a house and the surrounding market with it.</p><p>Harry clung to its neck until its movements slowed down underneath the water. Then she kicked off towards the surface. All of her limbs seemed to be obeying her, which was an unexpected blessing. She felt only minor discomfort, but she suspected that could be the shock of the ice cold water to her nerve system, and her luck was bound to change once feeling returned to her limbs. Breaking the surface, she quickly swam to the nearest timber that still seemed to be attached to the town. She heaved herself up onto the pathway, her arms, tired now from all the flying, protesting the effort.</p><p>She collapsed on the planks and allowed herself a moment, her eyes closed and her chest heaving. Working through her frantic breaths, splayed out and shaking on the slippery wood, she longed for a world where Warming Charms would work.</p><p>A change of dry clothes would do, too, but there wasn't yet time for that. She opened her eyes and cast them at the surrounding houses, needing a moment to actually recognise this part of town, so wretched it was. Then she slowly and carefully climbed onto her feet and started limping towards the watchtower.</p><p>It was time to face the music.</p>
<hr/><p>[Bard]</p><p>When Bard found Bain only one landing below his perch atop the tower, he held his son for a long moment, wrapping him into the safety of his arms and clinging to the beat he could feel through his chest. <em>Alive</em>–<em>alive</em>–<em>alive</em>, it seemed to thrum; Bain was <em>alive</em>.</p><p>He held his son in a tight embrace above the roofs of the town, listening to the buildings groaning in protest, and collapsing in places. Shouts rose into the air, some still in a panic, some barks of orders. And yet, the lake seemed deadly silent when compared to the mad roaring and raving of a massive dragon of just moments before.</p><p>With his thoughts returning to his daughters and people who could be trapped in the collapsed or collapsing homes, Bard finally let go of Bain with one last squeeze of his shoulder.</p><p>They made their way down the stairs. Bard steadied himself with a firm grip on the railing, his knees still shaking, the fear of staring down the face of an attacking dragon only slowly waning from his veins.</p><p>Only for the fresh memories to surge back to the forefront of his mind when they stepped out onto the pathways and met with the face he last saw hanging off a sword lodged into the dragon's eye.</p><p>Harry was slowly shuffling his way towards them. Bard, although still frozen with shock and full of bewildered questions, couldn't help but scan the lad's body with worried eyes, searching for injuries.</p><p>He was soaked to the bones, his many layers of baggy clothes now hanging heavy on his form and Bard was once again struck by how skinny the boy was. There were holes in his clothes, ripped or burnt through, and Bard could glimpse angry red skin underneath the cloth. He was clutching his right arm close to his side but walked under his own power.</p><p>Bard came to a stop at the base of the watchtower, frozen in his attempts to find the first thing to say. Harry didn't appear perturbed by the situation, though. He stumbled up to them and only halted a step away from Bain by Bard's shoulder. Once there, he grasped the black arrow. Bain quickly let go of it, as if surprised it had still been clutched in his hand.</p><p>Bard was left watching in confusion as Harry lifted the arrow and threw it over the path and into the water beneath.</p><p>"If anyone asks, that arrow lies buried in the dragon's heart."</p><p>Bard paused at the lad's tone, unfamiliar with the hardness that it suddenly took on. And yet, when he gazed into Harry's eyes, he found a pleading look behind all that determination.</p><p>The meaning of what Harry was asking finally registered. "You want us to lie? You would have me pretend it was I who killed the dragon?"</p><p>"Yes," Harry said without a beat of hesitation. He straightened his back so that it almost appeared he was no longer looking up when staring into Bard's eyes, although he still stood a head and a half shorter. "I probably helped to save quite a lot of lives today. All I ask of you is to help me preserve the sanity of mine."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to comment─it's greatly appreciated, especially this early on with a new story. And even more so with this one as this is a corona child─I started writing during my isolation and it got me through the worst of the headaches and nausea. So, thanks for brightening these days further!</p><p>I'll always try to answer your questions but if I haven't, it means I'm letting the story do so, at the right time.</p><p><i>Further notes:</i><br/>There's only one story I can recommend after a chapter like this:</p><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801541">nauva i nauva</a> by itsybitsyasterisk,</p><p>a beautifully written one-shot featuring another shape-shifting Harry fighting Smaug. I'd wish it was longer but on the other hand, the author managed to masterfully say everything that was needed in this powerful short story.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Whirlwind: Bard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no place on the lake stable enough to hold a large gathering, so the people of Lake-town had trudged over the bridge and convened on the Fishermen's beach.</p><p>Not all could come; some were bound to their beds for the coming days, others lay buried over the Creek, never to rise again. But those injured who could still walk made the short journey to the shore, resting now on washed-up logs.</p><p>"More than one third of our houses collapsed, or should be helped to. There isn't enough roof for all our heads and winter is almost upon us."</p><p>Alfrid seemed only in the middle of his speech, the Master nodding sagely behind his weaselly aide, and Bard dearly wished they would get to the point of it. He rather suspected he knew where all this was going.</p><p>"We need provisions to rebuild and we need gold to buy them. Luck shines upon us on the morn of such devastation, though, for there's a horde of treasure all abandoned by the dragon, waiting for those fastest to grab it."</p><p>Bard was actually quite surprised the Master wasn't already halfway up the Mountain, with all his guards to carry back as much gold as possible. It appeared that there was still some caution left in the Master's greedy body.</p><p>"Aren't there dwarves up the mountain?" Jarl's hoarse voice shouted from the crowd.</p><p>"All of them most probably dead by now," Alfrid quickly retorted. "The dragon wouldn't have left his lair with them still breathing inside. And if they by any chance survived, well, then it'll be well within our rights to demand reparations for our damaged property─as it was surely them who woke the dragon!"</p><p>"Haven't met a dwarf yet who would part with his gold easily," Old Jorn's widow grumbled loud enough to carry across the beach. "They won't hand over their coins just like that."</p><p>"Well, should they prove to be so unreasonable, it would be their own loss. After all, there were how many of them─ten, or fifteen at most, when they passed through the town?"</p><p>Alfrid's eyes found Bard then, followed by many others. He took a long, shuddering breath, knowing he could no longer stay silent.</p><p>"No matter how many dwarves are in the Mountain right now, breathing or not, there will be hundreds of them in a few weeks' time. Iron Hills lay just a seven days ride from here─Iron Hills, where half of our trade comes from, if you all pause to remember. The dwarves will come to reclaim their city, and I'd hate to face their reaction if we were to plunder it first."</p><p>"No one's talking about any plundering, just taking what we're rightly owed as-"</p><p>"There'll be no stealing from the Mountain!"</p><p>The Master stood up at Bard's interruption, raising from the chair he'd had his guards dragged to the beach. "And by whose authority are you to give orders, Bard, <em>the</em> <em>bargeman</em>?"</p><p>Bard stared at the opulent man for a moment but found himself without anything productive to say to him. So, he turned to face the crowd instead. "Erebor will once again become our most important neighbour, for many years to come. We ought to treat them fairly."</p><p>"What would you have us do, then? We lost our homes!"</p><p>"I would have you rebuild them. But we'll need timber, time and able men for that, not stolen dwarven gold. If coin's needed, we'll trade or borrow."</p><p>A wave of grumbling swept through the assembled crowd. And yet, Barn thought he could hear reluctant agreement in there. This was a town of fishermen after all, not warriors. No one fancied a fight with the dwarves.</p><p>"It'll be a bloody drafty winter on the lake, what with half of our walls missing," someone's voice carried over the others, and Bard recognised this as the right moment to lay the rest of his plans out.</p><p>A shot of fear halted his tongue, though, the weight of the responsibility for this idea to go well landing on his shoulders with sudden ferocity.</p><p>His eyes unwittingly found Harry in the crowd. The lad was already looking at Bard, an understanding smile on his face. Upon meeting Bard's gaze, Harry raised his chin and, holding his eyes, resolutely nodded.</p><p>Bard understood the message. He sent a quick prayer to all the Valar who deigned to listen that Harry was right, that the ruins were indeed salvageable and they could survive there even through the harsh season.</p><p>"We don't have to spend the winter on the lake. There are other homes that we could rebuild instead," he spoke slowly, waiting for his neighbours to catch his meaning. "Erebor is not the only city that suddenly found itself without a dragon guarding it."</p><p>"<em>Dale</em>? It lies in ruins!"</p><p>"Aye, it does, now. So does a part of Lake-town. As I see it, we have harsh months in front of us either way. But, I'd rather put my efforts into rebuilding a proper home, a city that has the chance to prosper again once the dwarves return to the Mountain."</p><p>"How do you know what state it's in? That it can even be rebuilt? No one has stepped foot inside in almost two hundred years!"</p><p>"We scouted it," Bard said, careful not to look at Harry. No matter how unfair Bard found it, Harry was right that the news would be better received if he wasn't revealed as its source. "It's possible. The first few mounts will be difficult, but so would the winter on the lake─in Dale, at least, there'll be no more stench of fish oil and tar. No more damp. Nor draft."</p><p><em>No more Master</em> <em>and his grabby guards. </em>Although he didn't need to say that last bit out loud.</p><p>He caught some of their attention, he was sure he had. He straightened his spine to deliver his decision. "Tomorrow morning, my family is leaving for Dale. Anyone's welcome to join us."</p><p>He turned to leave after that, although his traitorous ears strained to listen for the reactions. The crowd was hushed at first, until a female's voice, gruff enough to be Inge's, spoke over the whispers. "Well, I'm with the Dragonslayer. If he says it can be done, it'll be done."</p><p>Bard suppressed a twitch at the new title. He suspected he would have hated it even had it been true. Now, it was almost unbearable to hear.</p><p>His eyes once again slipped towards Harry. Bard wondered if he would one day grow to hate his friend for making a liar out of him.</p><hr/><p>Four mornings later found Bard once again hard at work long before the rest of his family rose from their beds, his erratic thoughts not allowing for sleep more than a few hours past midnight.</p><p>The granary would have to come next. People would grumble, complain about not patching up enough homes first, but there was no point in scrambling for provisions if they had nowhere dry to keep them.</p><p>People would come to see the necessity. They'd survived the first three nights crammed together in close quarters, they would survive a few more. Besides, fewer homes, fewer hearths. Less firewood.</p><p>Wood was another worry on Bard's long list of items they had in short supply, with very little idea how to go about acquiring more. Not only firewood, but also timber, to replace the old and rotting roof trusses. Unlike other materials they could pilfer from houses collapsed beyond saving, the old timber in the city was all long decayed, hardly suitable for reuse.</p><p>In days of old, they would have rafted logs down the river from the mountains, but Bard did not have the luxury of time to let the wood dry. His only option, however expensive it would most probably prove, would be to barter for some timber from Lake-town, at least for this winter if not-</p><p>"So this is where you've been hiding. Tilda said you left long before they woke up."</p><p>His thoughts came to an abrupt halt and Bard swore as the chisel slipped on the shingle he'd been cleaning. It scratched his thumb and he watched as blood surged to the surface of the small cut. It wasn't deep, certainly not worth stitching.</p><p>He looked up to find Harry standing underneath the caved-in door frame. There wasn't much left of the house, especially after yesterday, when Bard and his men took apart its roof. It was still clear it used to be a baker's home at one point, by the two collapsed ovens. Bard now sat on one of them.</p><p>"I thought I'd get a headstart." Bard indicated the neat pile of clean roof tiles, next to the much bigger heap of shingles still covered in crumbling mortar. He returned to the tile in his lap, keeping his eyes to the chisel as it cut off the coat of old plaster. Perhaps, Harry would understand he was not yet up for a conversation.</p><p>He heard the lad let out a soft sigh. Next, Harry was stepping inside and taking a seat on a pile of rotten beams. It settled beneath his weight, leaning on one side precariously. Without the roof, the inside was covered with morning dew; Bard could feel its chill seeping through his coat and he saw Harry slip on the wet surface of the wood. He made to catch him, but Harry managed to righten himself before Bard's arm reached him.</p><p>With his seat secured, Harry frowned at the chisel in Bard's hands. "Maybe you should give the wonders of delegation a try."</p><p>Bard knew it was meant mainly in a jest, but in his current disposition, he couldn't help but feel it as plain reproof. The new settlement was struggling, they had three hard days behind them and only harder ones to look forward to. And all that kept gnawing at Bard's mind throughout those three days, through all his worrying, through the people's complaints, all the mistakes made and shortcomings revealed, was that it shouldn't be him leading, that his people were putting their faith in a wrong person, an imposter, and that if Harry had only stepped forward with the truth, he would have done a better job of taking care of them.</p><p>This latest jab was just another painful reminder on an already long list of cases when Harry had proven to come forward with a better suggestion.</p><p>But Bard swallowed the bitterness, knowing it wouldn't lead anywhere if he acted on it. He'd given Harry his word, and that was that.</p><p>"I can't sit idle for long. Keeping my hands busy helps my thoughts move along, too," he said instead.</p><p>Through the corner of his eye, he saw Harry nod. "I understand that."</p><p>And he truly appeared like he did. The weight of experience in his eyes just now did not suit the rest of his youthful face and not for the first time, Bard wondered what sort of being his friend really was.</p><p>"I'm here with a suggestion."</p><p>Bard carried on with the chiselling but he dipped his chin to show he was listening.</p><p>"I overheard you talking with Inge and Jarl- about Dale being too far away from the farmers."</p><p>That was another worry on Bard's long list. The farmers south of the Lake used to make the journey to Lake-town's market twice a week, if the weather permitted. Even by the Mountain River, Dale was more than another half a day of vigorous rowing further, which, Bard knew, would discourage most of them from making the journey. When the snow and ice came, the river would turn too treacherous to traverse altogether.</p><p>They'd need to set up a trading post on the lake, or just send people shopping to Lake-town's market. He could already see the outrageous fees the Master would impose. But the other option was winter with no dairy. Bard's pride as a fisherman was not such as to blind him to the disadvantages of a season on a strictly fish diet.</p><p>Bard finished cleaning the shingle and reached for another one. "What's your idea?"</p><p>"I was thinking I could leave and buy us some goats. A trip or two, maybe."</p><p>Bard stopped his chiseling and looked up at Harry. "Most of the spring doelings have been butchered this late into the year, and no one's going to sell you their breeders. You'll have to search far and wide to get more than a few goats and the paths are quickly turning treacherous with ice."</p><p>"Then I'll do that. Distance isn't really an issue. I can get to the Iron Mountains in less than a day."</p><p>Bard's brows rose at the impossibility of such a feat, at least for the feet of Men or hooves of horses. "What of the journey back? You'd have to shepherd the goats."</p><p>"I'm perfectly able to herd a pack of dumb animals, icy paths or not."</p><p>In face of Harry's confidence, Bard paused to seriously think over the suggestion. "We'll need hay to feed them through winter."</p><p>"Then I'll buy hay, too."</p><p>"What will you pay with, though? We can barely scrape enough for wheat, let alone livestock."</p><p>Harry cautiously shook his head. "I still have some savings left. I'll be happy to use it."</p><p>Bard easily recognised Harry's hesitation for the fear that his generosity wouldn't be well received. Bard was over such delicacies. Everyone who wanted to live in the city was welcome to make an investment. Bard knew the time would come when Dale would be able to pay back. If that wouldn't happen fast enough, he could perhaps ask Thorin for a loan.</p><p>He was still doubtful of Harry's latest idea, though. "It'll take you days before you shepherd the goats back, maybe even a couple of weeks. Are you sure it's a good idea to leave for such a long time?"</p><p>Bard truly hoped it didn't sound as the pleading he partly felt it was. After all, it was Harry who gave him the confidence to start with this venture.</p><p>Harry sighed and leaned to rest his back against the moss covered wall. "I'm doing the best I can to help," he said and Bard did believe him- he'd caught glimpses of the lad working from dawn till dusk, he'd seen the dirt of a building site behind the lad's fingernails and on the knees of his breeches; the stained look a stark contrast to the lad's odd insistency on cleanliness at any other time.</p><p>Even now, Bard noticed the green smudges on Harry's neck and forehead, where he hadn't quite managed to wash the dirt away. Bard paused then, and scanned the lad properly, taking in his blushed skin, pink in the chill of the morning, the damp hair and- was that kelp by his ear?</p><p>"-but I could be doing a bit more if no one's there to see it," Harry added, intoning carefully.</p><p>It took a moment for the meaning to register through Bard's wandering thoughts, but it did and with it resurfaced the bitterness at Harry's secrecy. Bard steeled his mind against such sour thoughts and pledged not to let them leak through his faith that Harry had a good reason for keeping his abilities hidden. "Very well. When would you be leaving?"</p><p>"Right after I pack, if that's not a problem."</p><p>Bard nodded.</p><p>"Have you just gone swimming?" he asked to confirm his startling suspicion, before he let the lad go.</p><p>Harry grimaced, sheer repulsion scrunching up his face. "You really don't want to know."</p><p>Once again, Bard chose to trust him.</p><p>He put down his chisel and leaned towards his friend. Grasping his forearm, he squeezed it tightly. "Be safe. And say a proper goodbye to Tilda before you leave."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes, for once showing the same youthful petulance Bard's children tended to demonstrate. He strode away without another word, leaving Bard alone again with his pile of shingles and his mangle of thoughts.</p><p>It didn't take long for his early morning quiet to get interrupted again. He'd managed to chisel off mortar from only ten more tiles or so, when another boy appeared in the doorframe. Bard recognised him as Eryka's youngest, Axel- or Apsel.</p><p>"Bard, there's- there's an army of elves pouring into the city."</p><hr/><p>Bard only barely managed to restrain his anger until he was no longer within Thranduil's hearing, escaping into one of the many ruins atop Dale's hill to hide away from anyone's sight.</p><p>Although- who knew how sensitive the pointy ears really were? He realised he cared very little, as he grabbed the nearest thing and threw it against the wall. He watched as the rusty tray dented the crumbling limed walls, fell down on its side and rolled into a stop beneath a frameless window. It offered a view of the Lonely Mountain and the newly barred gate into the dwarven kingdom, and much closer, it showed the walls of Dale, currently brimming with the gold of the elven army.</p><p>"Greedy, hypocritical kings," Bard hissed through his teeth. "The both of them!"</p><p>He startled at the sound of loose rubble slipping, followed by footsteps. He spun around to see a figure approaching, not from the entrance, but from further inside the house, where it lay open to the elements with one entire wall collapsed.</p><p>He felt his heart lighten with relief when he recognised Harry. "You came back!"</p><p>Harry nodded. "I flew right back when I saw the elves arriving."</p><p>"You were here the entire day? Why haven't you shown yourself? I could have used your help with Thranduil- and also with Thorin."</p><p>"You've done just fine, more than fine, actually. I'm of more use to you observing from afar."</p><p>"Well, what have you observed, then? What should I do?"</p><p>Harry's brows were furrowed and Bard was glad to see the worry in the eyes below them, as opposed to the ignorant and awed-filled gazes his other men kept bestowing at their elven visitors.</p><p>"You've done well not to be placated by Thranduil's gifts," Harry said. "Accepting his charity does not make you indebted or obliged to ignore his transgressions."</p><p>Bard let out a soft sigh at hearing his own reasoning voiced out loud by someone else. He felt gratitude towards Thranduil for his caravan of food, he truly did, but he also refused to let it blind him to Thranduil's greed and his plans to attack the dwarves, unprovoked.</p><p>Still, he frowned in response to Harry's words. "What difference does my decision make, though? We're just a couple of hundreds strong, Thranduil has brought thousands. If he truly marches at the Mountain, there's very little I can do to stop him."</p><p>"You can either condone or condemn his actions. If nothing else, that makes a huge difference in the long run."</p><p>"But in the meantime, we end up alienating our most important neighbours: either one, or both of them."</p><p>"True. But right now, you're still a friend to both. You need to stop this insanity."</p><p>"How? There's no talking to Thranduil, not when he feels he has such an upper hand. And Thorin- Did you follow me to the Mountain? Did you listen as we spoke?" At Harry's sharp nod, Bard continued. "That was not the same dwarf we met a few days ago."</p><p>Bard watched as Harry turned towards the window that showed Erebor's gates, eyes narrowed in contemplation. It took the lad a while to speak up again. "Remind the elf king what happens when dwarven halls lay abandoned. Would he rather have dwarves, or orcs for neighbours?"</p><p>Bard blanched at that prospect. Harry wasn't done talking, though. "As for Thorin─something must have happened. A few days ago, he was willing to offer the elves anything in that mountain in exchange for healing his nephew. Now, though-"</p><p>A commotion outside made them both fall silent and listen to the frantic hooves and a booming voice that echoed through the streets of the hill and rose over the other noises of the busy afternoon. "Let me through, let me <em>through</em>! Who's in charge here?"</p><p>Bard let out a sigh, steeling himself against another complication. From his right, he heard a rustling of fabric and when he turned, Harry wasn't standing there anymore. Instead, his eyes caught the tail feathers of a grey bird disappearing through the window.</p><p>Bard took in a deep breath and hoped his friend wouldn't actually let him face the day truly alone. He stepped out onto the street and looked for the horse and its loud rider.</p><p>That was how Bard met a Wizard for the first time in his life.</p><p>And─as Bard would later learn to be the theme─Gandalf brought grave tidings with him.</p><hr/><p>An hour or so later, dusk was almost upon them and all three occupants of the lavish tent recognised that this conversation was not leading anywhere. At least Bard was very much aware of it. His frustration made him pace the length of the plush elvish rug hiding the city rubble underneath, but he was yet unwilling to stride off entirely and leave their plans unfinished. If there really was an army of orcs advancing on the city, as the Wizard claimed, then Bard couldn't let Thranduil just brush the matter aside-</p><p>He stopped his frantic pacing when he heard Bain's voice from outside of the tent. "Da."</p><p>His eyebrows rising, Bard beckoned the guard to let his son through. Bain's eyes swept nervously over the imposing figure of the Elvenking, to the dishevelled robes of the Wizard, before finally settling on Bard.</p><p>"The scouts have returned, Da," Bain intoned carefully.</p><p>Bard frowned at his son in confusion. They hadn't sent off anyone to scout, at least he hadn't given any such orders- but Bain kept staring intently into his eyes, as if imploring him to understand the rather simple message- and then Bard did.</p><p>He swiftly made to leave before remembering the Elvenking and the Grey Pilgrim in the tent with him. "I'll be only a moment," he said hastily and then strode away on Bain's heels without waiting for their leave.</p><p>Bain didn't lead him far away, just three houses down the street. Harry was sitting on a windowsill, his back to the twilight sky.</p><p>"There's really an army of orcs marching towards us," he said in lieu of a greeting.</p><p>It stopped Bard in his tracks. His arm reached for his son almost on its own accord, squeezing Bain's shoulder. "How far?"</p><p>Harry frowned. "They are just south of the Lake Hills ridge. I don't know how quickly an army can cross through the mountain paths, but they might get here as early as sundown tomorrow, if they don't rest much over the night."</p><p>Bard shook his head slowly. "They won't. No Orc sleeps the eve before a promise of a battle. How many?"</p><p>"They'll cover the valley twice over, Bard."</p><p>Bard felt his eyes close, but there was no hiding before the truth. Quite on the contrary, in the dark behind the lids, his head quickly filled up with images of orcs surging in waves at the city. He quickly opened his eyes again, his gaze unerringly finding Harry's. "Dale is not defendable, not with the walls as they are. We need to get our people out of here."</p><p>Harry nodded but frowned a moment later. "Bard- it's not the only army heading this way. Dwarves from the Iron Hills are marching, too─with their wargoats and chariots and whatnot. Even if they rest for the night, they could be here by mid-morning."</p><p>Bard's first reaction was to let out another tired sigh at yet another complication, before he stopped himself and looked at Harry sharply. "Will it be enough? The elves and the dwarves and our men─could we stop the orcs?"</p><p>Harry looked like he was about to give a swift answer, before suddenly deflating and shrugging his shoulders. "What do I know? I've never seen a Dwarf or Elf fight, nor an Orc for the matter. They'd still outnumber us, three to one maybe, and they seem to have trolls bigger than this house trudging along. I think I saw catapults harnessed to some of those trolls, too."</p><p>Bard idly wondered at Harry's claim of never having seen an Orc fight─how many people were this lucky? Especially people like Harry, who seemed to have enough experience not to hesitate or squirm when piercing a sword through a dragon's eye. But the bigger part of his mind was already occupied with forming vague plans.</p><p>"If I were to get Thranduil and Gandalf─and probably even the Master of Lake-town," Bard added with a frown of distaste, "talking about a battle plan, do you think- could you get the dwarves to join?"</p><p>Bard made sure to stare into Harry's eyes, trying to impose the message that he was not talking about Harry's skills in diplomacy. He recognised the moment when his meaning must have registered, for Harry's shoulders dropped and he averted his eyes.</p><p>"I can't promise anything," Harry said at last. "I've no idea what's at play at that mountain. But I'll try my best."</p><p>Bard was aware how little he knew of Harry's abilities, but he was beginning to understand that Harry's promise for his <em>best </em>could indeed be a truly valuable thing to hold. "Let's plan for a council tomorrow, with first light. Halfway between Dale and Erebor."</p><p>Harry tilted his head before he spoke up. "Better schedule it for tonight. The elves are planning to march against the dwarves in the morning. Let's not give them any more time bracing up for the wrong fight."</p><p>"The dwarves would suspect treachery if we set up the meeting in the dark."</p><p>"The dwarves will be able to see much better than any Elf or Man. The timing will actually be to their advantage."</p><p>Bard could easily concede that point. "Two chimes from sundown then."</p><p>One leg almost out the door, Bard only waited for Harry's confirmation.</p><p>Instead, Harry beckoned him back.</p><p>"Bain, could you fetch us a quill and some parchment? I'll need that invitation in writing, Bard."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you thought the sequence of Bard's thoughts on the matter of timber and shingles and goats was too long, I let you know it could have been much worse─because I absolutely love survival stories and their like. Luckily, you've been spared, as the scenes in this first act are supposed to be short and snappish and this chapter was already dragging.</p><p>However, if you're up for a good HP survival story, I cannot recommend enough</p><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/205025">Island of Fire</a> by esama.</p><p>It's a somewhat finished series, an account of how some hundred or so students from Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beaxbatons got stranded on an island (and in a different world, of course) and built another Atlantis out of it. Harry, naturally, becomes their leader. I reread it every two years, like clockwork.</p><p> </p><p>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Whirlwind: Kíli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If the columns of their Grand Hall back in the Blue Mountains were to be scaled down to the width of one golden coin, the entire floor plan of their home in Ered Luin would most likely fit into the westernmost antechamber of Erebor's treasury.</p><p>Kíli was halfway down to finding out for sure, when Fíli discovered his hiding place.</p><p>"There's an army of elves in front of our gates."</p><p>Kíli was too focused on his model to look up at his brother, trying to balance a few coins on their side to create narrow parapets along the first-floor ramparts, but he did manage to correct him. "Not quite. There's an army of elves on the other side of the valley, all the way back in Dale."</p><p>"So you <em>do</em> know about them."</p><p>Kíli was slowly letting go of the precariously stacked up coins, the tip of his tongue in between his teeth in deep concentration, so Fíli had to go without an answer.</p><p>"And yet, you're here, building- a coin castle?"</p><p>The disapproval in Fíli's voice was just that one bit too intense, and it made Kíli lift his eyes in hope. His brother was <em>game.</em></p><p>"Not just any castle..." Kíli hinted, making a grand sweep of his hand.</p><p>Fíli's eyes lit up with the best kind of fire—mischief. "Let me guess—are these the ruins of Nogrod of old?"</p><p>Kíli took the coins gathered in his hand as building material and pelted his brother with one or two before Fíli managed to crouch behind the finished southern battlements, and Kíli had to cease his attack unless he'd put his creation at risk. "Oh, shut up and help me," he grumbled at his snickering brother. "You can make a start on the statues at the Gates," he allowed graciously.</p><p>Unlike Erebor, their home in Ered Luin was built out of necessity, not for the splendor and riches of the site. Thorin's Halls were simple and designed with practicality in mind, and for a time, the brothers worked on the model of it with only mild disagreements.</p><p>"I can't believe you forgot something like this! There were three hearths in the Hall of Smiths, not four! The fourth wall had the Óin family tapestry hanging from corner to corner."</p><p>Kíli snorted at his brother. "What a pile of wargshit. There was a fireplace on that wall—they hung the tapestry over it when the chimney collapsed." A smirk grew on Kíli's face, almost as of its own accord, and he contemplated the wisdom of a confession. But only for a short moment—it had been many decades and he couldn't resist the allure of gloating for a plan well executed. "I should know—it's where I hid your first set of tongs."</p><p>"But- but I got two weeks of latrine duty for misplacing those!"</p><p>"And if you remember correctly, one of those weeks was supposed to be mine."</p><p>Kíli snickered at the angry breaths his brother was heaving whilst he angled away, back to the treasury for some more building material. Fíli must have still carried some sore feelings about that whole incident though, because in the next moment, Kíli heard his nailed boots stampeding across the coins towards him. He barely managed to turn his head around before his brother was on him, locking his neck in a tight grip.</p><p>"You selfish little git!"</p><p>Even through the sudden lack of air, Kíli's snickers bubbled up into full-out laughter.</p><p>His right leg twisted in an attempt to throw Fíli off balance. He only managed to slip himself, and as his muscles spasmed, white hot pain laced up from the partly healed wound in his thigh, ran up along his spine and assaulted his brain. His laughter was cut short, choked into a pained gasp, and then the world went black and grey for a moment.</p><p>"Nadad- Kíli, <em>nadith</em>, everything's fine. I'm right here."</p><p>He followed his brother's soft voice, letting it coax him back into full consciousness. Idly, his sluggish brain wondered whether he was truly unconscious if he could still hear in that place of greyness he went to. Was it truly unconsciousness if he could remember the experience, though vaguely, when he came back to?</p><p>Whatever happened in those moments, it never lasted long- soon enough, Kíli was blinking the confusion away, his sight focusing on Fíli crouching in front of him, holding his shoulders up from the treasury floor.</p><p>"I'm back," Kíli said hoarsely and felt Fíli's hands tighten their hold on him in response.</p><p>"Well, let's hope this won't happen when the elves attack," Kíli said and then snickered in derision at the bitter certainty that yes, absolutely─his luck <em>would</em> have him go into a seizure at the most inconvenient of moments.</p><p>Fíli's concerned face did not move which meant he already had that same thought himself.</p><p>"You've- you've also been acting rather strangely," Fíli steered the conversation away.</p><p>"Rather manic, you mean?" Kíli corrected, knowing very well that was the right description, although it was sometimes hard to follow his own moods—which should probably be his main cue.</p><p>Fíli nodded slowly. "Since you woke up after the Easterling's… treatment. Could that be what causes your... agitation?"</p><p>Kíli rolled his eyes at Fíli's careful wording. "I'm not turning into some delicate youngling, bound to explode on you with every perceived slight, nadad. These episodes seem to be just a slowly waning shock, almost like ghost pains." And because it was his brother, Kíli went to explain more, as much as he understood himself. "I keep returning to the same place I dreamt of when feverish from the poison. And when I'm there for too long, when you're not here to coax me out of it, I- I see a bright light appear and I feel a jolt of- well, I don't rightly know of what, but it makes me right giddy afterwards."</p><p>Fíli's brows wrinkled up in concern. "Could that be the Easterling's doing?"</p><p>Kíli shrugged. "You would know better—unlike me, you were fully conscious through that ordeal."</p><p>Fíli frowned some more but Kíli was done with this sappy moment. "It happens less and less often every day—I'm sure the echoes will go away entirely before too long."</p><p>He looked wistfully at the half-finished model behind them, but he no longer seemed to possess the necessary fortitude to ignore the outside world. "Let's go see what's happening. We can finish Thorin's Halls later."</p><p>Fíli nodded. He hoisted himself up and then offered an arm to help Kíli on his feet. Kíli rolled his eyes at the gesture but grabbed his brother's hand anyway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dwalin caught them only a few steps into the treasury. "What've you two been up to?"</p><p>"Looking for the Arkenstone," Fíli readily provided whilst Kíli kept his mouth shut, as it was Fíli's turn to answer that question.</p><p>"Hmm," Dwalin rumbled, squirting his eyes at them in suspicion, but there was also worry in them and it immediately caught Kíli's attention.</p><p>"Have you seen Balin?" Dwalin asked next.</p><p>"Last I saw him, he holed himself up in the library with Bilbo," Fíli said.</p><p>Dwalin spun on his heel and headed away, presumably towards the library.</p><p>Kíli shared a quick look with Fíli and they simultaneously moved to follow. "What's going on?" Kíli asked Dwalin's back.</p><p>"A bird delivered a message from Bard."</p><p>"Addressed to <em>Balin</em>?" Fíli wondered.</p><p>"No, to Thorin. But I'd rather have my brother there when the king receives it."</p><p>Well, if that didn't sound properly ominous.</p><p>"What does it say?" Fíli beat him to asking.</p><p>"That Gandalf is back. That there are orcs marching on Erebor. And that Bard wants us to meet with the pointy-ear bastards already besieging us to talk battle plans." Forever succinct, Dwalin was.</p><p>Then Kíli thought properly about what he said. He felt his feet halting and he turned to meet his brother's wide-eyed stare. A beat later, they both hastened their steps to catch up to Dwalin's long strides.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They found Balin and Bilbo deep in conversation. When Dwalin opened the doors to the dust-filled library, they both appeared startled, sending them nervous looks before they schooled their expressions; Balin considerably faster, blinking away the misty sheen in his eyes. Kíli immediately grew suspicious.</p><p>Dwalin must have, too, but he apparently decided to overlook it for the bigger concerns at hand. "This arrived from Dale," he passed the note to his brother.</p><p>As Balin's eyes ran along the lines, Kíli watched his wrinkled face scrunch up even more, into a deep frown. "Has Thorin seen this?" he asked at last.</p><p>"Nah. Figured you'd like to be there."</p><p>Balin nodded resolutely. "Well, there's no point in dillydallying. Thorin will be by his throne, of course."</p><p>And indeed, that was where they found him. Kíli hadn't spent much time in the Throne Room, and not only because he'd taken to avoiding Uncle lately. For the past four days, Kíli marveled at the grandeur of Erebor, but this particular hall, this enormous space where his forefathers had ruled, only reminded him that he'd been born under the stars and never known any other home than a mountain that couldn't comfortably house all of her people, let alone an imposing hall like this. Instead of proud, as Uncle must have felt, Kíli found himself wanting.</p><p>Thorin's reaction upon reading the message went about as badly as it could have been expected in his current disposition.</p><p>"It's a ruse," he growled. "They want to lure us out from the safety of the Mountain, make hostages from our envoy; to then trade back."</p><p>"Gandalf would never betray us as such," Balin argued resolutely.</p><p>"The wizard has never bothered to explain his true intentions for this quest. We can't be sure of what he would or would not do."</p><p>Bilbo, of all currently present, seemed to be most affronted by that. "Gandalf might be horribly obtuse at the best of times, but he's a friend to you and the dwarves in your Company, Thorin."</p><p>Thorin, surprisingly, seemed to have actually heard the Hobbit's words, and even considered them for a moment, before his brows furrowed once again. "Even if so, how can we be certain it really is him in the city?"</p><p>"Bard wouldn't know to use Gandalf's name otherwise," Fíli pointed out. "We've never mentioned the wizard in front of the bargeman."</p><p>"The elves know that Tharkûn travelled with the Company. They've whispered to Bard what to write."</p><p>Kíli recoiled at the venom in Uncle's voice even as Balin kept trying to reason. "The Woodland elves didn't. And even if Thranduil was in alliance with Rivendell, no message from Elrond would have reached-"</p><p>"Enough!" Thorin roared, the sound booming through the Throne Room. He leaned forward in his seat, piercing all of them with imperious eyes. "Until Dain arrives, no one is to cross the Gates, in or out. That is your king's order."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Balin?" Fíli asked softly the moment they left the cavernous hall. "What's happening to him?"</p><p>Balin stopped his steps to look back at Fíli, and Kíli noticed that the misty sheen had returned to the old dwarf's eyes. "I think you know, laddie," he said, voice equally soft.</p><p>Kíli suspected, and by the dread in Fíli's eyes, so did he. Kíli made to stand by his brother, but Balin spoke first. "Let's not talk of such things here." His eyes glanced at the doors to the Throne Room, before they returned to Fíli. "Come, let's join the others."</p><p>He led Fíli down the hall, Dwalin on their heels. Kíli also made to follow, but one glimpse at the hesitating hobbit halted his steps. Bilbo appeared troubled, rocking on his heels in agitation.</p><p>"What's the matter?" Kíli asked.</p><p>Bilbo's ears twitched at the question. "I- I don't rightly know. Would you excuse me for a moment? I have to… take care of this one matter."</p><p>The hobbit trailed off, already turning his back to Kíli and leaving down a different corridor than Balin and the rest. Kíli stared at the disappearing hobbit for a moment, before shrugging and chasing after Fíli.</p><p>Halfway down the corridor, Bilbo's strange behaviour still nibbled at his thoughts. Few steps later, he turned on his heel and returned to follow the hobbit. He rounded a few corners before he finally heard footsteps up ahead. "Bilbo? Where are you going?" he called only to hear the steps quicken in response.</p><p>Properly alarmed now, he started running after the sound. Whirling past another corner, he came to a sudden halt when he almost tripped over the hobbit's furry feet. Bilbo sat leaning against the wall, his head in his palms and legs spread across half the narrow corridor.</p><p>"Bilbo! Are you alright?"</p><p>Kíli crouched down next to the hobbit, prying one hand from his face. He couldn't see any visible injuries, but Bilbo's eyes continued staring somewhere above Kíli's shoulder, unfocused.</p><p>Until they suddenly snapped back into the present and widened. "The Easterling- Kíli, the Easterling stole the Arkenstone!"</p><p>It was now Kíli's turn to stare at the hobbit in utter confusion. The Easterling- here, deep inside the Mountain? And he took the Arkenstone- the Arkenstone that they hadn't found yet?</p><p>A few corridors down, a door shut close, the loud bang snapping Kíli out of his bewilderment. There would be time for questions later. He jumped to his feet and started running towards the noise, shouting at Bilbo over his shoulder: "Get Dwalin and the rest—quickly!"</p><p>He didn't look to see whether the hobbit listened but a moment later, he could hear Bilbo's panicked cries resonating through the corridors, calling for the rest of the Company. The sound carried in the otherwise empty city. Kíli knew Balin, Dwalin and Fíli weren't far, they would come soon.</p><p>In the meantime, he had a thief to follow.</p><p>Kíli hadn't done enough exploring in the few days they'd stayed in the Mountain to recognise where he was right now. The corridors and stairs were narrow, without much embellishment and with only very few doors. He suspected a servants' passage, maybe a direct shortcut from the representative halls down to the kitchens?</p><p>Wherever the corridor led, it made it quite easy for Kíli to follow along until he came to the first shut doors. He tried the handle but wasn't surprised to find it locked. Sticking his ear against the wood of the door and halting his frantic breathing for a moment, he listened for sounds beyond. There were some—shuffling of footsteps seemingly right behind the wooden boards, as if someone was pacing on the spot instead of running away.</p><p>Even confused by that, Kíli didn't hesitate to beat his fist against the wood. "Open up!"</p><p>The sounds seemed to cease for a beat, before Kíli heard footsteps again, this time hurried and getting fainter. He swore and went to examine the lock, knowing he couldn't hope for taking a different route, unfamiliar with the layout as he was.</p><p>Luckily, he could already hear a stampede of feet and shouts from behind his back. "In here, I'm in here!" he howled back, directing them.</p><p>A moment later, Dwalin, Balin, Fíli and Thorin rounded the corner, Bilbo only a few paces behind them. By their furious expressions, he'd managed to catch them up on the happenings.</p><p>"Where is the thief?" Thorin roared.</p><p>Kíli just pointed at the shut door.</p><p>"Bilbo!" Thorin barked next. "Fetch Nori to open the door. Dwalin, stay guard. The rest- follow me."</p><p>Unlike Kíli, it was obvious Thorin knew these corridors and halls, as he led them through the maze without hesitation. They quickly passed through an assortment of storerooms, pantries and larders, making Kíli believe they were indeed circling the main kitchens. Finally, Thorin slowed down, gesturing for Fíli, Balin and Kíli behind him to keep quiet, too. Coming to the next crossroad, they stopped completely, and listened.</p><p>Before Kíli could register anything, Thorin was pointing to the right, a confused look flickering through his eyes before they again turned determined in their fury. Kíli understood his puzzlement—the noises were coming back from inside the kitchen quarters, instead of fleeing away. Did the thief get lost?</p><p>Kíli was the last to ever admit to any shortcomings of dwarrows, but even he was aware they weren't the quietest race, even when they were trying to be. Thus, whilst the four of them tried to carefully shuffle towards the thief, their clanking armor and hardened boots still must have announced their presence.</p><p>And yet, the noises kept coming from the same spot. There was clunking and one sharp bang, followed by words in a strange language spoken with such derision they could only be swearing.</p><p>And then, Thorin started running again, rounding the last corner, Kíli and Fíli right on his heels.</p><p>They burst into an oblong chamber, with workbenches lining the walls. A tinkerers' hall, Kíli idly concluded by the assortment of tools hanging above the desks. On the other side of the room, in front of the only other door and the only lit lamp, stood the Easterling, a large hammer half-raised in both his hands.</p><p>What captured Kíli's attention above all though, was the bright gem in front of the thief, giving a soft hue of light from within; illuminating the otherwise gloomy hall with a kaleidoscope of colours.</p><p>The inner shine had him so mesmerized it had taken Kíli a moment to realise the precarious position the Arkenstone—for it must have been the Arkenstone, since such otherworldly beauty could only belong to the Heart of the Mountain—was in. Wedged in a vise grip, it laid right in the path of the Easterling's hammer.</p><p>"You dare!" Uncle's roar boomed across the hall as they rushed forward. "Step aside, thief!"</p><p>In response, the Easterling raised the hammer higher, into a position for a full swing. Despite his doubts that any force this twig of a man would muster could ever harm the fabled gem, Kíli still hesitated, as did the other three dwarrows, under the gravity of even such a small risk.</p><p>"Are you aware the rock is cursed?" the Easterling said into the silence that followed. "It's currently possessing your king something fierce."</p><p>Whatever Kíli had expected to hear, it wasn't this. His frantic thoughts, which were until now solely focused on catching the thief, came to a sudden halt, trying to reassess the situation for the sheer strangeness of it.</p><p>Uncle had no such reservations. He charged forward once again, Kíli letting himself be swept with his king's fury. The Easterling answered their assault by striking down.</p><p>The hammer connected with much more force than what Kíli could have ever thought the lad capable of. And under their disbelieving eyes, the gem shattered, shards upon shards flew from in between the iron jaws, until only a soft light lingered where a jewel once was, until it also disappeared.</p><p>Kíli found himself frozen to the spot. In front of him, Uncle also stood still, petrified with his sword raised.</p><p>"Well? Any change?" the Easterling asked into the grave stillness, staring intently into Thorin's eyes.</p><p>Another beat of silence passed, and then Thorin let out a furious roar and charged at the thief. He was at him in a second, easily swapping aside the hammer the Easterling clumsily swung at his chest plate. With his other hand, Thorin grabbed the thief by his neck and lifted him until his toes wobbled uselessly in the air, searching for the ground in vain.</p><p>"For this, I'll have your corpse rot at the Gates for ever, you worthless <em>makk en rukhs</em>!"</p><p>Kíli watched the thief's eyes bulge wide open in panic, and probably also from lack of air and the pain of Uncle's grip. A couple of heartbeats later, the fear disappeared, replaced by fierce serenity. The green of the Easterling's irises seemed to become even brighter as he stared into Uncle's furious face. For a moment, their gazes seemed to be locked into a conversation only the two of them were privy to.</p><p>Next, Thorin was putting the thief down upon the stone, and loosening the fingers around his neck enough for the Easterling to rasp out, "Well, that's a pity."</p><p>Then, he lashed out with his right arm, striking Uncle's neck. There was a dim flash of red where it hit and Kíli's heart stopped. The flames must have reflected upon something in the thief's hand—a hidden blade?</p><p>Kíli heard himself shout in alarm as Thorin crumbled down, lifeless. Kíli surged forward but the thief also moved, clutching Uncle's body, somehow lifting it almost upright, and putting it between himself and Fíli, who was suddenly in Kíli's line of sight and one step ahead of him.</p><p>"Stop! <em>Everyone</em>, just stop for a moment!" the Easterling called hurriedly. "Thorin will be fine—he only sleeps. So, calm down and let's have a peaceful chat."</p><p>It was the sight of Uncle being kept as a shield that halted Kíli's steps but it was the claim that Thorin still lived that made Kíli's heart pulse again.</p><p>"Master Harry," Balin spoke into the tense silence, his voice so forcefully calm it grated like an axe against a stone. "What have you done to our king?"</p><p>"I'm not lying, he only sleeps. The curse still lingers; he needs time before he shakes off its influence from his real thoughts. That's usually much better done if one's not distracted with the troubles of the outside world."</p><p>"Speak plainly, thief," Fíli growled, his voice laden with frustration.</p><p>The Easterling sighed but obliged. "It might take a while before he wakes up, but when he does, he should be free of the curse. He might pinch a nerve if you don't give him a pillow, but that's truly the biggest danger he's now in."</p><p>He cast them all a quick frown, before his eyes swept around the rest of the room. Kíli recognised the look easily enough—he was getting ready to escape. Well, not under his watch, Kíli thought grimly, as his muscles tensed in preparation.</p><p>The Easterling spoke up again. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I had to destroy your heirloom. I did try to find a different way but my options were rather limited."</p><p>Kíli met his apologetic eyes with a hard glare, wishing the boy would just be done with the talking. The thief sighed and granted Kíli his wish.</p><p>He hurled Uncle's unresponsive body at Fíli, who stood the closest. Kíli surged forward a fraction of a second later, neatly sidestepping his brother and his armful of a dwarven king, and chased after the thief to the door. It swung shut into his face. Kíli barely managed to raise his hands to stop the wood with his palms instead of his nose. He wrenched it open again and charged after the sounds of footsteps once more.</p><p>Noise did carry in the halls, but it also echoed, confusing his sense of direction. Kíli did his best to follow, but the thief was fast, faster than Kíli, on his longer legs and in his light leather shoes. When a door crashed open in a distance and more footsteps joined the fray to confuse him further, Kíli despaired.</p><p>When he rounded a corner and found Dwalin, Nori and Dori rushing towards him, he cursed, turned on his heel and shouted over his shoulder, "Follow me, the thief escapes!"</p><p>He heard them stampeding behind him, drowning all other sounds. Still, Kíli ran—through three more corridors and up two flights of stairs, until he was forced to stop at a crossroad, utterly clueless.</p><p>"Lad, there's no point in chasing further," Dwalin spoke up behind him, placing a heavy hand around his shoulder. "We won't be able to find him in these corridors, let alone corner him, fourteen as we are. We better watch the Gates—he needs to go through to escape."</p><p>Kíli saw the truth in Dwalin's words. He slumped in defeat against Dwalin's arm, knowing it would take his weight.</p><p>"Dori, Nori, go back to the Gates," Dwalin ordered. "From now on, there'll be four dwarrows guarding the ramparts at any given time."</p><p>When the two brothers left, Dwalin turned back to Kíli. "Where are the others?"</p><p>Kíli perked up. He swept his eyes around the four corridors leading from their spot, and realised he was completely and utterly lost. "Eh- back in a hall that looked like a tinkerer's workshop?"</p><p>Dwalin stared at him for a moment. "You realise we're on the floor of the guilds?" he asked, voice dry.</p><p>Kíli shrugged sheepishly. "We can always shout."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i>Nadad—brother, Nadith—little brother</i>
  <br/>
  <i>makk en rukhs—son of an orc</i>
</p><hr/><p>I'm quickly running out of chapters where it makes sense to mention a rec of a Hobbit AU, so here's another one, in case you haven't by some weird chance read it yet:</p><p><i><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/76021">Homeward Bound</a></i> by <i>ISeeFire</i></p><p>It's one of my favourite portrayals of Fíli and Kíli, in which they're also forced to take more responsibility. A finished series spanning through the War of the Ring, as well. ISeeFire writes masterfully, and although not all of her stories are my style, this one struck many right chords. It's a very entertaining read and I encourage you to give it a try.<br/> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Whirlwind: Kíli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The elvish tent was being raised just off to the road between Dale and the Gates of Erebor, in what looked to be an equal distance from both. It was certainly well out of range of arrows. Were the archers to stay on Dale's battlements, that was.</p><p>"Anyone see anything suspicious?" Dwalin asked from Kíli's left.</p><p>An assortment of grunts and growls was the only response at first, the dwarves and a hobbit all squinting their eyes into the distance. Only Óin stayed inside with Thorin, who still lay unconscious in the quarters the Company had claimed for their temporary lodgings. Everyone else stood in a row on the ramparts, fully armed, cautious and suspicious, staring down at the delegation from Dale who were setting up camp down in the valley under the light of several torches.</p><p>"I've heard of elven clothes that can make them practically invisible," Glóin grunted.</p><p>"Those would be the Lothlórien cloaks," Ori piped up, voice unsure. "I don't think Thranduil's guards would have any."</p><p>"If elves don't want to be seen, we won't see them," Glóin insisted.</p><p>And yet, all twelve of them kept staring. When the foot soldiers finished building the open tent and turned to march back to Dale, Kíli carefully counted them, making sure that none of them stayed hidden behind. And indeed, it seemed that only three figures remained, none of them in armor, and all of them rather distinguishable even from the distance. The Elvenking, the Wizard and the Bargeman.</p><p>Fíli leaned closer to Kíli's ear. "Hoping for a certain redhead?"</p><p>In his surprise, Kíli couldn't quite hide the initial jolt of excitement at the idea. Then he threw a scowl at his brother.</p><p>Fíli only laughed at his perturbed face. "Oh please, you weren't being subtle, brother of mine, nor speaking softly enough. We were all just a cell away, for Mahal's sake!"</p><p>Kíli could easily see through his brother's desperate attempt at some levity, so he obliged. Lifting his chin, he bore the teasing even as the rest of the Company snickered around him. "She is quite the catch, even with those pointy ears. You have to admit that."</p><p>Fíli snorted again, but when his arm landed across Kíli's shoulder, Kíli saw the genuine warmth that peeked through the anxiety in his brother's eyes. "For what it's worth, you have my blessing." The hand on his shoulder squeezed tightly and Kíli knew his brother spoke the truth, no matter with what jab he was planning to belittle it next. "If only for the wrath you'll bring on yourself when Mother learns of it."</p><p>As snickers once again rippled through the assorted dwarrows, a bird shot up from behind their backs, flying out into the open sky.</p><p>"Is that the bird that carried Bard's message?" Dori asked.</p><p>"Aye," Dwalin grumbled. "I guess it got tired of waiting for an answer."</p><p>As one, the ten dwarrows and a hobbit turned their eyes to Fíli.</p><p>Kíli watched as his brother tensed under the sudden scrutiny, but he didn't twitch, nor did he slumped, eyes unwaveringly staring ahead. Kíli followed their direction; they trailed after the bird, a grey falcon, as it glided down from the Mountain to the tent on the open plains.</p><p>"Right," Fíli spoke when the bird landed on the tent's pole. "Kíli, Balin, you'll go with me. Dwalin- whatever happens, don't leave the Mountain before Dáin arrives."</p><p>Fíli didn't wait for acknowledgement of his orders. He strode to the rope ladder they'd prepared an hour back. Kíli climbed down right after him, clunky in his armor and laden with heavy weapons, his back open to the drop behind him and to their enemies possibly lying hidden and waiting in the valley below.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Balin, Fíli, Kíli!" Gandalf called when they stepped into the light of the tent, alive and not yet pierced by any elvish arrows. "Where's Thorin?"</p><p>Kíli's heart rejoiced when he saw Gandalf, for it was unmistakingly the wizard, with his grey robes and gnarled staff, who greeted them with a worried frown. Some of Kíli's own worries ebbed away─no matter what Uncle had said, Kíli trusted the wizard not to betray them.</p><p>The other two faces in the open tent weren't as welcomed a sight. Thranduil looked down upon them as hauntingly as when they had first appeared on his doorstep. Bard was frowning in the background, leaning against the tent pole.</p><p>"Thorin was injured," Fíli answered levelly when they crossed the assumed threshold, "but he rests healing now."</p><p>Gandalf's impressive eyebrows furrowed further, whilst Thranduil twitched forward, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Bard's gaze turned towards the Mountain above Kíli's head, lips pursing.</p><p>"And when the King under the Mountain rises from his sickbed, Dwarf, will he honour the plan we will have agreed upon without his blessing?" Thranduil's words were as poisonous and predictable as they'd expected.</p><p>"I am Fíli, son of Dís, nephew to Thorin Oakenshield, and his heir. If I give you my word, the King Under the Mountain will honour it as his own." Fíli's voice didn't waver as he stared at the Elvenking, and Kíli puffed up his chest in pride.</p><p>Silence followed, before the elf inclined his head almost imperceptibly. He folded down onto his chair, the smooth move practiced to unnatural perfection, and turned towards the Man in the tent. "Well, Lord Bard. We gathered here on your beckoning. <em>Parley</em> away."</p><p>For a moment, Bard looked like a deer caught in torchlight and Kíli inwardly groaned.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The hour that followed was one the most tedious Kíli had ever been forced to suffer through. He would not recount it even under the threat of torture.</p><p>At the end of it though, they walked unharmed back up to the Mountain, instead of getting captured, getting into a fistfight with the insufferable leaf-eater or getting cursed by the irritable wizard.</p><p>Their kin were waiting for them with anxious faces when they climbed back up to the ramparts, eagerly watching their features for any clues. Fíli took pity on them and gave his report quickly.</p><p>"The orcs will be here by sundown tomorrow. The elves will stay in Dale, whilst Dáin will take a stand with us here at the Gates. We'll pierce the orcs in from the two fronts."</p><p>"You told them about Dáin?" Dori asked in derision whilst Dwalin grumbled appreciatively at the plan.</p><p>It could prove to be a rather good plan indeed, which was lucky, as it was also the <em>only </em>plan the dwarves and elves could agree on: stay away from each other's arrows and spears, on the opposite sides of the valley.</p><p>"They'd already known about Dáin's army," Balin dismissed Dori's outburst.</p><p>"We agreed to take some of the villagers in," Fíli plowed right into the part of the plan that would undoubtedly cause the loudest protests.</p><p>"<em>In</em>?" Bombur repeated, his tone rather incredulous. "As in <em>inside</em> the Mountain?"</p><p>Fíli nodded, resolutely. "Yes. In the state Dale's battlements are right now, the city will be breached. There's no reason for women and children to be caught in the fight. Not when we can prevent it."</p><p>"But the Treasury, the gold- And the Gates-"</p><p>"The Treasury will be sealed. We have the rest of the night to do so. We'll also make more ladders to climb the ramparts," Fíli spoke over the protests.</p><p>"The Easterling will escape the Mountain in all the commotion," Bofur pÓinted out, and rightly so.</p><p>Fíli's next nod was slower, grave, but no less determined for it, letting everyone know he was willing to risk their chance for vengeance. A solemn silence followed, everyone acknowledging the sacrifice.</p><p>"What are we getting in exchange?" Glóin asked next.</p><p>Fíli bristled at the question but Balin beat him to the answer. "Nothing less than an ally for a neighbour, Glóin. One that, given enough time, could prosper again as it had in times before the dragon came, and not lay slaughtered at our doorstep."</p><p>Glóin grunted something inaudible into his beard but shut up afterwards.</p><p>"What happens after the orcs are dealt with? Will the elves leave?" that was Ori's voice, raising tentatively over the others.</p><p>Balin sighed. "Should we survive, the negotiations will be renewed."</p><p>Another wave of discomfiture ran through the assembly, but no real words could be heard until Dwalin summed up their thoughts rather succinctly, as he was wont to do. "Well, let's hope Thorin doesn't wake up before it's too late to chase them all out."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He didn't.</p><p>At least he didn't show any signs of waking up when the dawn was almost upon them, they'd finished preparing the Mountain for an influx of fishermen, and Fíli had forced Kíli to take some rest, the hypocrite.</p><p>Thorin wasn't awake when Kíli rose from his cot a couple of hours later, feeling more tired than when he'd gone to sleep.</p><p>Neither did he stir through all the shouting that boomed through the halls of the Mountain when Dáin arrived. Kíli checked with Uncle once again, finding nothing had changed, before he rushed back up onto the ramparts.</p><p>Below the gates, hundreds of Dáin's soldiers milled about in front of the water ditch, their weapons exchanged for shovels for the morning as new lines of defense grew quickly under their arms. Kíli was confident that by lunch, the three trenches would spread in wide half circles from statue to statue lining the two sides of the Gates.</p><p>The ramparts were also busy, with archers setting up stations along the Gates' entire width, even on the higher balconies further up above Kiri's head. The only part of the battlements bereft of soldiers was the bit where Kíli now stood, above the bridge to the barred entrance, the path and stairs down into the Mountain cleared away, making space for the incoming Men.</p><p>The women and children were already on their way, a continuous current of bodies streaming out of Dale and headed to the Gates. It was by the time the women in the front row got close enough for Kíli to recognise the features in their faces, when the ramparts beneath his feet started to shake.</p><p>His eyes unerringly followed the quakes in the stone, directing his gaze to the range of hills meeting Erebor on its eastern side. Just when his eyes landed on their slopes, a great mouth burst out of the ground, swallowing the stone in its way. Five more stone-eating worms emerged, only to disappear a moment later, leaving tunnels in their place. The ground around the tunnels shimmered in Kíli's eyes before war horns blasted through the valley and Kíli's mind processed what he was seeing.</p><p>The orcs had arrived. Early.</p><p>His eyes shifted to the column of townsfolk, unarmed and unprotected, spreading from Dale almost to Erebor's gates. He looked sharply down, at the dwarrows who were hastily dropping their shovels, climbing up from the half-finished trenches and running for the cones of spears and shields back by the Gates. Lastly, Kíli looked back to the East, up at the Lake Hills and saw how far the hordes of orcs had spilled out of the slopes in the few seconds he hadn't been watching.</p><p>He made a quick calculation and then closed his eyes, praying to Mahal to give aid to the poor souls on their next journey, as it was his children who'd unwittingly helped to bring the upcoming slaughter about. Then he forced his eyes open, knowing that he owed the women and children to at least watch their death if he could not prevent it.</p><p>He shook off the useless despair a moment later. Next, he was grabbing someone's prepared quiver and bow, swinging himself over the parapet and down the robe ladder there, hoping against hope that at least some of the townsfolk would run fast enough to get under the cover of his arrows.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uff, three updates in one week! I think this is a powerful enough moment to leave you for a short break, and maybe let your own imagination take it from here to entertain you in the meantime.</p><p>Or, I have another Hobbit story to recommend for your further reading. I should have probably mentioned this one at the end of the last chapter, as it contains glimpses of younger and more cheerful Fíli and Kíli:</p><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/784480/chapters/1479231">I've Heard This Clan's All Trouble</a> by Tawabids.</p><p>I guess it's technically an adoption story but it comes with none of the usual fluff and overt drama. Instead, we get realistic conflicts, all beautifully described, amazingly evocative narrative, and witty language that's just a joy to read. It's under 50k words and finished into a rather poignant end. Go ahead!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Whirlwind: Harry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry had read enough of Dale's history books, if the collections of tales could be called that, to understand what sort of threat a marching army of orcs posed to Dale, Erebor and everyone in between. The books mentioned Orcs many times, but they explain very little, as if the viciousness of that race was one of the realities of life that did not warrant further examination. From this, and from many other similarly dogmatic claims she'd come across during her limited studies, she'd long concluded that the line between the good and the evil was rather precisely drawn in this world.</p><p>And maybe it was that seemingly perfect straightforwardness that did not sit quite right with her? After all, from her experience, things were rarely only black and white.</p><p>It was midnight before the day of the battle and Harry was haunted by questions that kept her awake even as the nervous activity in the city around her had finally ceased and people took to their beds under the imposed curfew.</p><p>The trouble was to find anyone who could give answers. Very few people in Dale had actually met any orcs before they'd attacked their homes in Laketown six days prior. And even if they had any knowledge of them, tomorrow was coming quickly and the imminent battle approached with it. The villagers were too scared to offer any objectivity.</p><p>The elves would probably be a much better source of information but Harry had decided early on to stay clear of them and their minds, unchartered waters as that whole race was for her right now. There would be time to get to know them, but it would be done with great care, not in a rush and the tension of an impending fight hanging over their heads.</p><p>Short on options, she found herself sitting by the fire with Bain, of all people, in the room they shared with two other families. On the cots behind their backs, their roommates breathed softly, resting in their fitful sleep. Sans Bard, of course, who had left for Laketown after the negotiations with the dwarves were finished, and had yet to return.</p><p>Bain, who still adopted a starry wide-eyed look every time he peered at her. Bain, who had trouble speaking in full sentences when she got near. She dearly hoped that further exposure would return things back to normal─he was a sweet boy.</p><p>For a moment, she wondered what kept <em>him</em> awake, but one look at his face and the way he kept worrying his lower lip gave her the rather obvious answer. "You and your sisters will be safe inside the Mountain," she offered in a soft whisper, mindful of the people asleep in the room. "The dwarves fought hard to reclaim their home. They won't let it fall to orcs so soon after."</p><p>Bain shot her a quick look from under his furrowed brows, before his eyes returned to the flames. It took him a long time to break the silence, but Harry was content to wait. "But Da will be out there, out on the front lines. He'd not allow himself anything less."</p><p>Harry suppressed the exasperated sigh that threatened to escape at the idiotic ideas she could see brewing in that boy's brain. "Let's make a deal─I'll be out here, watching your father's back, if you do the same for the girls inside the Mountain." She'd been planning to look after Bard, anyway.</p><p>Bain might be young and sweet but he wasn't stupid, and he saw right through her. "You just said there won't be any dangers in the Mountain."</p><p>Harry sent him an unimpressed glare. "Well, you still have to protect the girls from themselves. Tilda's fanciful enough to climb the walls back onto the battlefield and try to help."</p><p>He recoiled, in fright at the idea or in indignation Harry did not know. But it seemed she managed to get her point across. "I think I'd be of more use than Tilda," Bain grumbled.</p><p>Harry pretended to ponder the question before replying. "Nah, I can see you'd do about the same amount of damage. Your dad would certainly be equally terrified and distracted."</p><p>He shot her a frown and Harry was pleased to notice the annoyance seemed to have wiped out all of the previous awe from his eyes. Good. She imagined he could have been a good friend to her, once grown up. A pity that she wouldn't be here to witness it.</p><p>"Bain-" she started after enough time had passed in silence. "Are there any good Orcs?"</p><p>He lifted his eyes at her, confused. "Good Orcs?"</p><p>"Yes," she insisted. "Good Orcs. I understand the whole race was made evil and to spread evil, but according to the same tales of yours, the race of Men were created a decent folk. And yet, there are certainly many wicked Men. So, I wonder, would there be any decent Orcs, even if they were made wicked?"</p><p>Bain stared at her in incomprehension, for long enough that she lost hope he would have an answer for her. But then, he slowly intoned, "I've never heard of any good Orcs."</p><p>"Really? What about their females and children? Are they just born evil, or do they grow into it? And if they really only crave bloodshed and cruelty, who takes care of the babes?"</p><p>He squirmed in his seat, visibly unsettled. "Where are you heading with such questions?"</p><p>"I'm thinking that if they are any decent Orcs, more reasonable ones, then there would be a chance to- well, reason with them. <em>Parley</em>, maybe," she added, remembering the word Thranduil had spat in the tent a few hours earlier.</p><p>"Parley with Orcs? There's nothing they'd want that we would be willing to offer. They want our flesh, Harry, and they relish in the fight for it."</p><p>"But to what end? If they got their wish, they'd kill us all, and then where would that leave them? Don't you ever wonder there must be something else to it?"</p><p>"Such is the nature of evil," Bain said, shrugging his shoulders, and sounding way too sage for his age. "It aims to consume all. And the fell creatures are fueled by its purpose."</p><p>Harry let out a frustrated sigh, knowing they had just come full circle in the reasoning, a circle of this world's tales of creation that Harry wasn't entirely sure what to make of. It wasn't the most ridiculous theory she'd ever heard, there were several cultures and religions on Earth that would easily take that prize, but it baffled her how widespread and generally believed in─even across races and regions─that one tale was here, in Middle-earth.</p><p>She didn't ask any more questions and they waited in silence for Bard to return. Bain had dozed off in his chair in the next hour or so, but Harry's frantic thoughts didn't let her sleep, keeping her awake until the ink black sky behind the windows started fading.</p><p>How far would she allow herself to go, should she believe the orcs purely evil? Would her conscience allow her to cross the lines she'd kept in place against any other enemy, be they desperate, misguided or even wholly corrupt, but still human? Was there any previous experience to compare this to? An army of Inferi? But surely not, though, for the orcs were still very much alive-</p><p>Bard slipped into the room with only a muted creak of the door, shoulders hunched in exhaustion. When he noticed her still sitting by the fire, he frowned in disapproval but nodded his greeting. He crossed the room on light feet to the bowl of clean water Sigrid had left out for him. They'd known he'd push himself hard to get to Laketown and back before the morning.</p><p>Knowing her face was well hidden in the shadows, Harry watched as Bard took off his jacket, tunic and shirt and quickly splashed the water over his sweaty back. Biting her lip, she saw goosebumps rising over the expanse of his skin, and quickly looked away.</p><p>Harry was well-aware she'd managed to develop a bit of a crush on Bard. No matter that she was well over a century old; in the matters of attraction, her body seemed to suddenly remember that it had not developed much past her maturity, and decided to deal with the hormones with the zeal of an eighteen-year-old.</p><p>The whole thing was made even more ridiculous by the fact that there was no quick solution to it this time. Bard currently thought of her as a wayward orphan─a boy, at that!─to protect. It was her biggest cause for regret of her choice of disguise. This wasn't the first time she considered revealing a bit more of the truth to him. But, Bard already treated her differently, and people had started to take notice. She wasn't yet confident in this world, not comfortable enough in her knowledge of it, to bring more attention to herself. Of any kind.</p><p>She was brought back to the present when Bard bent over Bain's crouching form. His upper body was now covered in a fresh shirt, she noted, relieved and disappointed at the same time. With a soft intake of breath, he picked up the almost fully grown boy and gently laid him down onto his cot, pulling a blanket over him. The boy didn't even stir.</p><p>When he sat down on Bain's emptied chair, she passed him the bowl of broth they'd kept warm for him over the fire. He nodded his thanks and eagerly started slurping it down.</p><p>"Laketown won't send their folk into the Mountain," he said when the bowl was half-empty. "They'll burn the bridge and hope it'll stop an army as if it were just another group of bandits."</p><p>She reached over the distance between their chairs, squeezing his shoulder in response to the defeat she saw in his eyes. "You've done your best to protect them. The rest is their doing."</p><p>His head dropped even lower. "I dearly wish my best could be a good deal better."</p><p>Her heart beat in sympathy at the familiar despair, and she felt herself falling just a bit deeper.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Harry squinted her eyes at the pieces of armor someone had spread onto the cot next to hers. She suspected Sigrid and her tendency to think of everything.</p><p>Harry picked up the breastplate, absurdly heavy and rusty at the edges. She let out a scoff of derision and dropped it back onto the pile. Next, she untangled the clanky sword from her second belt, knowing it'd only get in her way. She had nicked a nice and short dagger from Dale's armory the other day. For appearance's sake, it'd be enough.</p><p>The rest of the room had been empty when she'd woken up. Exhausted, she must have slept through all of them leaving for the Mountain. The sun wasn't yet completely peaking over the Lake Hills, though─it wasn't that late.</p><p>She flung a locking spell at the door, just in case. From the packs underneath her cot, she took out one of her most valuable possessions─her sports bra she'd been wearing when she'd arrived into this world, the only one she had that wasn't in tatters now. She quickly changed. It didn't mask her chest as well as her usual bindings did, but with her baggy tunic and coat, it didn't matter much. She took a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of freedom as the elastic material spread willingly with the movement of her ribs. <em>Elasticity, oh, how I miss thee!</em></p><p>A plate with breakfast was also waiting on the cot, also most probably thanks to Sigrid, and Harry quickly grabbed the bread and cheese into her hand, intending to munch on it on the way. Ready for the day and the battle that would come with it, she left their patched-up room.</p><p>Two houses down, she slipped into a narrow alley, and then into yet another abandoned building that she knew contained a conveniently closed-in courtyard. Safely out of sight, she swiftly turned into a falcon and shot up into the sky.</p><p>The city underneath her was brimming with the gold of the elven soldiers, with only some greys and greens of the Men's coats mixed in. Women and children had walked out of the city by now; Harry could see the column of people spreading two thirds of the way to the Mountain. There, in front of the gates, a new horde of dwarves in heavy armor milled about and- dug ditches? Well, good for them.</p><p>Satisfied to see that things were moving according to the plans, she turned her flight south-east and went to check on the progress of the orcs.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A minute later, she'd just passed over the first peaks of the Lake Hills, when the stone beneath her groaned. She slowed down her flight, gliding in confused circles, looking for a possible cause for the thunders that were now ripping through the mountains underneath her.</p><p>From the west, back the way she came, a new sound reached her, a boom of explosion, drowning any other noises, until it was itself drowned in the next similar explosion, and then the next one. She counted six booms altogether before the sounds finally ceased, followed only by a few seconds of relative silence, before it was once again broken by distant roars of war horns. Harry angled her tail feathers and turned sharply to head back.</p><p>Something was terribly wrong.</p><p>It took her only a few seconds to reach back the peaks and regain the view of the valley that spread between two arms of the Lonely Mountain, and between its Gates and Dale. Dread filled her stomach at the scene below her─six columns of orcs were spilling out of the ground, rushing down to the road at the bottom of the valley. And there, in the orcs' way, a line of her neighbours spread out from one end of the vale to the other, unprotected.</p><p>Shrieks and screams of terror cut through the air as people started running. Only a small fraction rushed towards Erebor, the majority turned back to Dale, to the safety they knew, but which was also further away. They were painfully slow though, children, and elderly and mothers with babes in their arms, and seemed to be almost crawling when compared to the sprint of the dark hordes surging towards them.</p><p>Dwarves up at the Mountain gates started gathering and she could also see elves rushing out of Dale. But they had a long way to run to offer protection, whilst the orcs would be upon the road in half a minute.</p><p>This was her doing.</p><p>They'd acted on her intelligence, relying on her words that the orcs were still a day away. <em>If anyone dies, it'll be on her hands</em>.</p><p>Well, they weren't dead yet.</p><p>Abandoning her caution and fears of attention, she welcomed the fierce serenity that always came to her in a fight, at last unhindered by the limits she'd let such fears impose on her. Half-formed plans flickered through her mind and got quickly discarded as she flew closer. She could overtake the orcs and reach the fleeing people in time, but there was nothing at her current disposal that could help her effectively protect a column a mile or so wide from a charging army.</p><p>It would have to be offense, then.</p><p>Deciding on a plan, she broke her flight to land on the nearest outcropping, turning back into a witch still mid-air and landing softly on her feet. Searching the sea of orcs for the right target, she snapped her wand out of its holster. <em>There, he will do</em>, she thought grimly, as her eyes landed on a mountain troll with massive blades instead of gauntlets, towering high above the orcs around him and running close to the front of their lines<em>.</em></p><p>The distance was much greater than what a regular spell could effectively fly, but the curse she had in mind was a persistent one, eager to find a victim no matter how far it had to travel for it. Harry's aim only needed to be true. For the first time in a long while, she grasped her wand firmly in her palm, raising its tip level to her eyes. Squinting, she took aim.</p><p>
  <em>Imperio.</em>
</p><p>She felt the curse travel across the valley, she felt it hit true just a blink of an eye later and she felt her magic spread through the troll's mind like a heavy blanket, covering all his other thoughts. Harry immediately sent a command─<em>surge forward!─</em>only to feel the troll hesitate and the link between them tremble.</p><p>Her eyes widened in shock. A troll, a creature she read to be of very little intelligence and no strength of character, resisting an <em>Unforgivable</em>? She felt herself starting to panic─there was so much she didn't know about this world just yet, and so little time to alter her plans <em>right now</em>─and in response to her frantic thoughts, she felt her concentration slip, losing her hold on the troll almost entirely.</p><p>With her magic leaving the troll's mind, she got a glimpse of what filled it instead.</p><p>She recoiled in shock. There was a presence there, sinister, vile, strangely distant but still filling the troll with a purpose, and guiding it with absolute certainty of the creature's obedience.</p><p>She understood now. The troll was already under an influence. It was the magic that resisted her curse, not some mysterious characteristics of the creature. Magic, she could understand. Magic, she could combat.</p><p>She redoubled her efforts, strengthening the feeble link and sending down the might of her determination, ready to obliterate anything standing in the path of her will. <em>Surge forward!</em></p><p>The troll did. He lengthened his strides, easily overtaking the orcs around him, and crushing the unfortunate ones in his way. In a second, he was level with the very front of the orc lines, of one of the six attacking columns. Under her commands, he turned back at the orcs, spread his massive bladed gauntlets, and <em>charged</em>.</p><p>The first row of orcs hadn't even paused in their tracks before they were slaughtered. The next dozen did freeze in their surprise, which was their own undoing as the troll <em>halved</em> them in one sweep. What's more, as Harry's troll rained carnage on the front lines, the rows behind them stopped in their assault, and slowed down a sixth of the charging tide.</p><p><em>Don't let any orcs pass,</em> Harry ordered at last and tentatively withdrew her concentration away from the curse. Her eyes stayed on the troll, though, watching whether he would hesitate again. But the foul presence seemed to have lost its hold over him, and only Harry's commands prevailed.</p><p>Satisfied, she turned her attention to find more trolls. She was quickly running out of time─although she'd stopped one tide, there were five more almost upon the bottom of the valley, and she knew a lone <em>Imperiused</em> troll wouldn't last long, anyway.</p><p>Luckily, there were many more targets. She raised her wand arm again and─knowing to expect resistance this time─sent her curse powering through the air with the force of her will at her most pig-headedness. It struck a troll with spiked balls on chains instead of arms. Whether there had been someone else controlling the troll before, Harry did not know─her curse obliterated anything else from the troll's mind before she could take notice.</p><p>In short succession, she flung curse after curse until she had a line of eleven trolls facing the oncoming hordes and stalling them with weapons and confusion both, with equal effect.</p><p>One of the trolls got overcome then, and she winced as he died and left her curse banging on a dead brain and absent mind. That wasn't pleasant, she thought with some irritation as a pang of pain throbbed through her temples before she managed to sever the link.</p><p>She shortly contemplated retreating most of her curses─the trolls were now fighting for their lives, and would continue to do so should she withdraw her influence. But, she knew it was the magic of the curse that endowed them with the skills needed to comply with her orders, lending a spur to their strength and agility they wouldn't have had otherwise.</p><p>Not willing to lose that advantage, she steeled herself against the possible headache, and left the curses in place. She went to find even more targets, trolls a bit further down the charging hordes, and sent her next curses at them, to further stall the onslaught.</p><p>During the course of her long life, she'd never wondered whether there was a limit to how many Imperius Curses a witch could hold at once, but it wasn't like it had ever been a concern before. She counted twenty-two trolls now before she had to stop, though not because of her control slipping, but because the orcs finally got over their stupor and <em>her</em> trolls started dying quickly. The combined effect left her head pounding.</p><p>She squeezed her eyes shut against the light, the morning sun piercing seemingly straight into her brain. The sudden migraine-like attack made her stomach churn violently, and she knelt quickly, expecting her breakfast to find its way up. She heaved several times, tasting the bile rise up in her throat. Still, she stubbornly held onto her spells.</p><p>A half a minute later, with the worst of the pounding in her skull fading, she finally forced her head up, to assess the situation.</p><p>Thirteen of her trolls still remained, standing in a line under her command, and half-successfully creating a wall of steel and muscle almost at the bottom of the vale. The orcs were now spilling out over the sides, spreading further north towards Erebor, and south towards Dale. But they lost the direct way to their victims, as well as their velocity and their headstart. On the path between Dale and Erebor, the townspeople were now safe, either behind a wall of elven soldiers retreating with them back behind the walls of the city, or up close to Erebor's gates, with a handful of dwarves on goats intercepting the few orcs on the townsfolk's tails that had escaped Harry's trolls.</p><p>Harry dropped back onto her heels, sacking with sheer relief.</p><p>She allowed herself a short moment of reprieve, three deep breaths to center her, before she opened her eyes with renewed determination. The battle had only started, after all.</p><p>With a critical eye, she cast her gaze over the battlefield, enemy formation and their allied forces both. The elves would all soon be back inside the city. The battlements and the army of archers standing upon them would halt the orc charge.</p><p>The dwarves, however, were out in the open and would feel the grunt of the assault in full. She could see them falling into close formations, their shields and spears ready for the oncoming onslaught, but that was only a part of them─some still ran behind their backs in disarray, helping the people of Dale up the ladders into the Mountain, mounting their goats and rearranging their rams for much closer range.</p><p>That made deciding on her next step easier. With the same mental command to all her remaining trolls, only ten now, she sent them hurling north, towards Erebor. Hopefully, they'd break up the charge in places, and give the dwarves a reprieve in between the assaults. Her trolls wouldn't last long, already quite battered as they were. But unlike in a normal state, their numerous wounds didn't slow them down, the magic of the curse forcing them to comply above the best of their ability. They would still make a difference.</p><p>She spotted many more fresh trolls that had meanwhile emerged from the tunnels. Bracing for further migraine to come, she carefully aimed her wand to the closest <em>Imperius</em>-free troll to Erebor and fired her curse once again. She missed, hitting an orc instead. Shrugging her shoulders, she gave him a quick command, and as he turned against his kin, she quickly withdrew before he was killed. Her second attempt hit true and she quickly moved onto the next troll.</p><p>And then, a voice reached her on her perch far up from the vale and everyone in it; an old, deep, familiar voice that carried as if the air was its messenger. "<em>My lady</em>," it seemed to greet her, tones full of awed reverence and gratitude. The message continued, but she didn't listen to hear the rest.</p><p>Instead, she strengthened her <em>Occlumency</em>, her mind doing the equivalent of locking and bolting imaginary gates and letting them disintegrate into iron steel walls. On the outside, she only felt her eyes widen, while inwardly, her mind might as well curled into a fetal position, as she breathed through her panic back into composure.</p><p>It didn't seem like an attack, she mused then. The message seemed just that─as someone greeting her in passing. But that's not how <em>Legilimency</em> worked back in her world─you couldn't just send a thought out into the open, expecting it to be picked up. You intruded into someone's mind to let them hear you inside. Hence, her initial panicked reaction. It had been many decades since someone managed to slip into her mind.</p><p>But she was in a different world, and she'd already concluded that magic indigenous to this place worked differently. She was almost sure the sender did not actually touch her mind, it was only his voice that did─if that made sense at all.</p><p>Even accepting that, there was still cause for worry. The person addressing her knew to send the thought out, expecting her to pick it up─he knew she had the magic for it. He also knew her to be a woman, and knew her to be kneeling here above the battleground. Unless the message was sent out wide? And maybe all beings in Middle-earth had the ability to pick up thoughts sent this way, not just magic users?</p><p>Her mind started swirling with further questions until she forcefully stopped the mental whirlwind. There was still battle ongoing and she still had the energy to prevent many unnecessary deaths. She'd deal with the repercussions later.</p><p>Returning her focus back onto the gates of Erebor, she wasn't surprised to see all her trolls laying dead. She had severed all her curses the moment she went into the mental lockdown in her panic, and the trolls must have fallen rather quickly without the boost of <em>Imperius</em>. Well. Hopefully, they'd still provided some distraction.</p><p>There weren't many trolls left alive on this side of the valley, but she still cursed them all. With that done, she turned her attention to Dale which was now truly under siege, surrounded not only by legions of orcs, but also by trolls bearing rams and catapults on their backs.</p><p>
  <em>Well, thank you.</em>
</p><p>She made them turn around and, with an agility that the trolls surely did not possess on their own, had them reach back and release the boulders into the masses of orcs. As the projectiles cleared out long corridors, she commanded the trolls to run along them, then further through the enemy lines and up towards Erebor, to help the dwarves. Most didn't get far, but that didn't matter much.</p><p>She no longer had the fortitude to withstand their deaths, shaking all over from dizziness, and she needed her hand steady to aim. Ruthlessly, she gave them command or two that would have them enraging their ex-fellow soldiers, and give them their free will back only to fight for their deaths. That caused enough havoc, and, more importantly, took the most formidable soldiers out of the enemy's ranks.</p><p>At one point, she cast her eyes around and realised there were no more trolls to curse. The tunnels were no longer spitting out orcs. The dwarves were now charging ahead, piercing the remaining enemy lines in sharp formations. She could see a small host of dwarves on goats climbing up the hill opposite from her perch, presumably chasing after the orcs who had been bellowing their horns in commands throughout the whole ordeal up until a moment ago.</p><p>Down in Dale, the orcs had given up charging its walls. They broke formation, fleeing in disarray towards the lake. She spared one thought for Laketown, but quickly snapped her full attention back to Dale when she noticed the bridge was brimming with orcs and the gates were hanging loose on their hinges. The orcs had broken through, after all.</p><p>Remembering her promise to Bain, her concern for Bard spiked, and she had the sudden urge to go check on him. She stopped herself, casting one more look over the battlefield, making sure she was not needed anywhere else more urgently. But even her tactical mind confirmed this perch had outlived its purpose.</p><p>Turning into a peregrine, she glided down to the city on still wobbly wings.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Usually, I prefer to let the story speak for itself, yet with this chapter, I feel like I should offer an assurance regarding Harry's scepticism, as it is something that will only slowly get addressed and I don't want to lose your trust before then.</p><p>I am charmed by Tolkien's world and its mythology. Harry, though, is not reading it in a book but is confronted with it as her new reality.</p><p>You now have it confirmed that she's over 100 years old. She comes from the brink of the 22nd century, and her long life has taught her to question what she sees and hears and reads. It will be some time before she accepts Arda in its entirety, and we get to view the beauty of the place even through her eyes.</p><p>On a different note, I once again have a rec to mention. After a chapter like this, there's a perfect story that comes to mind:</p><p><i><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532446">One Woman Army</a></i> by <i>AutumnSouls</i></p><p>It's a very strong one-shot, also featuring a fem!Harry facing an Orc army. It's also a rather satisfying read, so satisfying actually, that it managed to entirely grab me even back when I was still opposed to the idea of fem! stories; and led me onto the path of discovery. AutumnSouls has another fem!Harry crossover, <i>To Rekindle the Flame</i>, which I have high hopes for, although it's still in its infancy.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Whirlwind: Harry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The orcs hadn't breached Dale further than the first courtyard beyond the main gates, as that was where they were met by a squadron of fresh looking elvish swordsmen.</p><p>She flew over the fighting soldiers, checking for familiar faces, but didn't find any Men. Knowing this battle would be soon over, she left the capable elves to it, flying up to the upper streets, looking for Bard.</p><p>Surprisingly enough, she found him where he should be─in the remnants of a pavilion they had taken for a command post of sorts, with an ample view of the valley, and with Gandalf and Thranduil for company.</p><p>She strengthened her Occlumancy, as she'd taken up doing around Elves and Wizards, and glided down. There were two other elves, a blond and a redhead, whom she'd first taken for guards, but now that she'd landed near enough to listen, she realised they were part of the conversation.</p><p>She also remembered where she'd seen their faces before─those were the elf and elleth she'd spotted chasing the pack of wargs out of Lake-town. Well, small world.</p><p>Taking in the worried and frowning faces, she quickly realised the atmosphere wasn't as celebratory as she'd hoped. Suppressing a groan at the complications sure to come, she listened in.</p><p>"-another army, of Gundabad orcs. They are almost upon us."</p><p>Well, that was probably as bad as it could get.</p><p>She looked up at Bard's voice. "They are riding to their deaths," he said softly, somber eyes turned to the north. She followed his gaze to see the last of the mounted dwarves just cresting the hill Bard was staring at.</p><p>"Driven by their thirst for vengeance," Thranduil spoke up. "I doubt they would abandon their pursuit, even should they know the odds were against them."</p><p>"Send our archers up the hill," the blond elf urged. "They are fresh─they hadn't been touched by the battle yet. Their arrows could perhaps help the dwarves in time."</p><p>"And why would I send our archers into danger when they can easily fire their arrows from the safety of the ramparts? The orcs will reach us here. I will not support dwarven greed for revenge with the lives of our people."</p><p>"The dwarves don't ride for revenge," Bard spoke. "They think Azog flees, defeated. They are right to grasp the chance to stop him before he returns once again. He's the enemy of us all─we should be out there, helping them."</p><p>Harry puffed up her feathers in pride at Bard's words. She remembered him stating something similar back in Lake-town to Thorin, then still a beggar king without his mountain; it was good to see Bard throw the same sentiment into the face of an elven king dressed in a mighty armor, towering a head over him.</p><p>"And yet, I do not see <em>you</em>, Lord of Dale, sending your men-" Thraindul started but was quickly interrupted.</p><p>"Lady Galadriel," Gandalf's voice boomed and Harry startled, because she immediately recognised it. Although the tone was very much different, this was the voice she'd heard speaking in her mind, up on her perch. Of course it was the only other magic-user present. She should have guessed, she scolded herself and forced her ears to listen in again.</p><p>"-impossible!" Thranduil just finished in a hiss.</p><p>"And what other force in Middle-earth would explain the feats we witnessed today, performed to our aid? Unless you think it more likely that the Valar themselves would deign to interfere?"</p><p>"The power required to influence minds through such a distance would have been too immense to-"</p><p>"And yet, she has spent it!" Gandalf spoke over the Elvenking. "To aid us here, hundreds of miles from her realm and home, for she understands this is a fight that we all have a cause to win. And yet, you refuse to help?"</p><p>Several thoughts connected in Harry's mind even as hope had already taken roots in her heart. She'd read of Galadriel. She wouldn't have thought the elf capable of controlling minds across hundreds of miles, but Gandalf seemed to accept it as a possibility. And wasn't that a frightening thought? Here was to hoping she'd never make enemies out of that one. But at this moment, Harry was just grateful for the excuse Gandalf's incorrect conclusion afforded her. It seemed she wouldn't be outed today, after all.</p><p>That was… well, that was excellent.</p><p>Gandal's assumptions wouldn't hide her for long, she was aware of that. Who knew how often he and Galadriel spoke, but if they could do so with their minds they were probably in a habit of chatting from time to time. Still, she was glad for any reprieve she hadn't counted on.</p><p>Exalted by the prospect of a slightly less difficult tomorrow, she took to the skies again. Thranduil had a Man, a Wizard and an Elf working against his stubbornness; apart from using an <em>Imperius</em> on an elven king, which she was quite sure would end in disaster, there was nothing she could add to this particular fight.</p><p>Idly, she pondered her state of mind if the idea of using <em>Imperius</em> to win an argument popped up so quickly. She couldn't wait for this day to be over.</p><p>In the meantime, her help was needed elsewhere.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A fog had settled over the frozen river and the derelict watchtower she found on top of the hill. It took her a moment to spot the dwarves but spot them she did, across the river and by the entrance to the tower.</p><p>Five dwarves stood guarding their mounts, thirty goats or so. She landed on a crumbling fence near them just when the rest of the dwarves started spilling out of the tower. She recognised some of them, even with their faces covered in dirt and dark blood.</p><p>"He's gone," the bold one, Dwalin, growled. "Fled like the <em>sheilve shaikmushz</em> he is."</p><p>"Kíli," the golden-haired of the two brothers called. "Can we track them?"</p><p>"In this snow? Piece of piss."</p><p>"They'll be far from here by now, fleeing on their wargs," Dwalin pointed out. "We won't catch them, not even on goats."</p><p>"'Cept they haven't fled on wargs," Kíli called back, already a bit further away, his eyes glued to the ground. "This way!"</p><p>Harry watched as the whole company moved to follow the young dwarf, quickly disappearing into the fog ahead. With a slight pang of guilt, she realised Thorin wasn't among them. She couldn't imagine he would willingly miss out on the hunting party, which meant the king probably slept through the whole battle. Well- <em>ouch</em>.</p><p>She took off after the company before they disappeared from her sight completely. They directed their mounts up the frozen river, the tracks of the fleeing orcs clearly visible even to Harry from above.</p><p>"Halt!" Dwalin barked several minutes, rather softly for his normally booming voice.</p><p>It was enough to stop the dwarves in their tracks, as well as Harry in the air. She circled above them, silent on her wings, searching the river and its high banks for anything that could have caught the warrior's attention. But the place was silent, the fog seemingly deafening her as properly as it blinded her to anything further than several paces of the dwarves' goats.</p><p>Dwalin dismounted and placed his palm against the ice of the river. "Incoming," he grunted after a moment of silence.</p><p>Fíli quickly followed his example, presumably also feeling for the quakes of the ice. He hissed out a curse a moment later. "Fall back," he called next.</p><p>"Fíli-" his brother almost whined.</p><p>"No, Kíli. <em>Way</em> too many," Fíli cut him off resolutely, already mounting his goat. "We've been led into their attack. Fall back!"</p><p>For a moment, Harry watched the retreating dwarves, the goats' hooves clunking loudly on the ice. Still, they weren't loud enough to completely drown the faint, but persistent clatter and thrumming that had now reached her ears. It was distant, and yet already seemed thunderous.</p><p>Well, knowing that she'd better do whatever was needed to halt the orcs out of sight of the dwarves, Harry took off towards the incoming army. Only to pause a moment later, catching a strange swish of air <em>way</em> too close to her body.</p><p>Next, claws were tearing at her wings, a swirl of black bodies circling her, attacking her from all sides, screeching high notes into the air around them.</p><p>Making a swift decision, she quickly transformed back into a witch. Gravity took hold of her, but she knew she had a second or two to spare, and she flung a strong banishment at the black mass surrounding her. <em>Were those bats?</em> <em>Rather massive ones at that, </em>she observed before the ground approached rather quickly and she changed into peregrine just in time to whip her wings out and get her fall under control.</p><p>She raised her head when she heard the awful screeching again. She hadn't caught the whole cloud with her banishment charm, and the nearest bats were once again upon her. She transformed back and landed on her feet, arm already raised to sweep the whole sky above her into a whirlwind. The bats were clever beasts, though, flying away the moment she'd turned into her bigger body capable of magic. Either way, the sky around her was now clear. She changed back into her winged form.</p><p>Only for the awful screeching to return, the bats hurling back at her again.</p><p>"Oh, bugger!" she swore the moment she had to transform once more, having barely flapped her wings.</p><p>This was quite enough.</p><p><em>Fire</em>? It seemed to respond very well to her in this world, and she was annoyed enough to feel vindictive.</p><p>
  <em>Fire it is.</em>
</p><p>Arm already outstretched, she hesitated. The fog had cleared away, of course it had, and she was clearly visible up on the ridges above the river. She could see the oncoming orcs now, a whole horde of them running down from the hills. And on the river below her, a large pack of wargs was quickly gaining on the dwarves.</p><p>Fire could not be explained by Galadriel's telepathic powers. She would lose the cover of the wizard's assumptions. Hadn't <em>Imperius</em> already proven useful enough? She could carry on with the same strategy, sticking to the invisible beams of the Unforgivable. Not the most effective plan, but still sufficient to protect the dwarves before help would arrive.</p><p>She nodded to herself and lowered her arm. She could lay low for now, preserve her anonymity─she could give herself as much. There was no urgent need to waste the unexpected boon given to her by Gandalf's need for an explanation. If Thranduil's archers didn't come in time, she'd change her strategy then, she promised herself.</p><p>Decision made, she sent the closest bats into disarray with one last banishment, turned into a peregrine, and <em>dove</em> from the banks.</p><p>In a plunge like this, the bats had no chance of keeping up with her. Not before long, she was upon the dwarves, swooping over their heads at the same time as the first wargs caught up to them.</p><p>"Charge!" she heard Fíli roar, and saw the dwarves turn their wargoats around, to meet the wargs head on.</p><p>The mounted orcs were just a vanguard to the incoming army, probably to keep the dwarves from running, but they still seemed to count more than a hundred strong. She'd always been bad at estimations, so there could very well be twice as many, rushing down the river at them in waves as they were. The dwarves were outnumbered, several times over, that was for sure.</p><p>Her dive took her all the way down to the ice of the river. She landed some twenty feet behind the dwarves, at the very edge of the waterfall, where the drop would guard her back and allow for a quick escape should the annoying bats interfere again. She spared one look at the valley below the waterfall─orcs now ran in disarray from the battlefield, fleeing from their pursuers; but more importantly, a wave of golden clad soldiers was running up the hill. Thranduil had listened. The elves could be what, four five minutes away?</p><p>She lowered her wings to the ice and changed into a witch, sprawled with all her limbs as flat to the surface as possible. A beat later, her form disappeared under a Disillusionment Charm. Finally a bit more comfortable, now that she was no longer a visible target so close to the fighting, she rose to her knees and let the <em>Imperius</em> fly once again.</p><p>Wargs, dark orcs, pale orcs─she did not care, flinging one colourless curse after another over the dwarves' shoulders. She only gave a command or two at a time, quick to withdraw her magic as her targets were also rather quick to die.</p><p>"It's happening again!" a dwarf shouted. "The beasts are turning against each other."</p><p>"Mahal blessed us today!"</p><p>"Tis no work of Mahal," a redhead she'd seen before called. "Must be Tharkûn's doing, and we all know how reliable that wizard is. Stay on your guard!"</p><p>Later, she would wonder whether Glóin had prophetic powers, or whether it was just the cruel humour she'd learned to read from these moments.</p><p>Because not even half a minute later, she was made aware of a flaw in her strategy. An orc she'd sent against his kin and then left free of her control had stumbled away from the fray. The dwarves paid him little mind, thinking him converted.</p><p>She knew better and moved to intercede but by that point, he already had his dagger buried in Fíli's shoulder.</p><p>Fíli roared in pain, but swung around at the same time and slit the orc's throat with the sword in his other arm. She watched the dwarf in concern, but Fíli kept on fighting with the same vigour, even using his injured arm, and Harry breathed in relief. He'd be fine.</p><p>Aware of the possible danger now, she slowed down her cursing and made sure her victims were truly on their way to dying before she left them to it.</p><p>"Hold on! The elves are almost here," she heard Fíli shout just about the same time something punched her chest. Winded, she looked down─to see an ugly hilt sticking out of her otherwise disillusioned body. She blinked, only slowly registering the piercing pain now jumping up her ribs and spine.</p><p>Stabbed. <em>Well, it's been a while.</em></p><p>Leaving the dagger there for the moment, she lifted her head to search for her attacker. She was still practically invisible against the ice, how did the- <em>Ah,</em> <em>Orcs and their sense of smell</em>, she idly noted, as she spotted the two orcs almost upon her. <em>Excellent situational awareness, Potter; truly.</em> One quick thought later and one of the orcs rushed the other over the edge of the waterfall, their tangled bodies disappearing into the abyss below.</p><p>She went to numb her chest then, only for the spell not to take. Oh, <em>of course</em>, no pain relief charms in this world. Swearing under her breath for the agony she suspected would follow, she took a shallow breath. <em>Yep</em>, her lung was most probably punctured, she thought even as she squeezed her eyes shut under the shock of pain. Well, there was nothing to it. She locked her jaw and yanked the blade out with a levitation charm, trusting her magic to be more precise than her shaking hands.</p><p>She gritted her teeth and bit her tongue, trying to keep the cries of pain from escaping. This was… <em>raw</em>. She couldn't remember the last time she had to deal with a wound like this without the mercy of pain relief potions or, at the very least, a Numbing Charm.</p><p>Slowly, she picked up the discarded dagger and sniffed the blade, having heard of the poisoned weapons of Orcs. This one didn't smell like it, thank Merlin, but it certainly didn't appear sterilized, either.</p><p>She looked down, pinpointing the tear in her tunic through her Disillusionment Charm and staring at it with a blank look, as her mind provided clear first-aid instructions, well practised by experience, and yet all utterly useless in this world.</p><p>Though- the suggestions for spellwork might be useless, but she could loosely follow the steps. Taking several shallow breaths, she focused on the tightness on her right side, attempting to distinguish it from the searing pain. Her lung wouldn't expand properly─she needed to watch whether the pressure would ease with time, or on the contrary, get worse. Infection and blood loss were other pressing matters. What techniques did healers use in Lake-town? She'd never investigated before but her imagination took over now, and she idly wondered if she would soon come to reminisce of the gentle care and sweet-tasting potions of St Mungo's. Maybe there was something she could do on her own instead?</p><p>She was wary of experimenting when it came to healing, the memory of Lockhart always warning her with his trick of disappearing bones. She'd rather deal with a stab wound than a chest without ribs, thank you very much. And yet, she didn't fancy revealing her elastic bra nor the breasts beneath it to any healers.</p><p>Could she levitate the dirt out? That sounded like a mighty stupid idea. She couldn't very well separate the filth from her blood, she'd end up carving half of her chest muscles. Pulverize it with flames? She recoiled at the very thought, her stomach already curling only imagining the agony.</p><p>She scoffed at herself in derision. She had gone <em>soft</em>.</p><p>Idly, she noticed that arrows started flying over her head. Good, the elves had arrived. Good timing, actually, because the bulk of the orc army also seemed to be upon them.</p><p><em>Good</em>, she repeated in her mind, slow and sluggish. And it was around then that she realised she'd gone into a shock.</p><p>Well, that was certainly new.</p><p>The wonders of magical healing and modern medicine must have made her over-reliant on their convenience. Look at her now, panicking over one small wound, just because she can't numb the pain. <em>Soft</em>, indeed. <em>Pathetic</em>.</p><p>She must have lost her consciousness right about then, at least for a minute or two. When she blinked out the black spots from her eyes, there were now giant eagles up in the sky above her, diving at the army of orcs. Elves lined the edge of the cliffs, keeping the orcs at bay with walls upon walls of arrows, engaging with their swords only at the very few places where orcs had broken through.</p><p>Her dizziness only slowly subsiding, she opened the collar of her coat and tunic with trembling hands, pulling the clothes aside to see the wound now, when her Disillusionment Charm had failed. Breathing seemed easier and the bleeding didn't appear too heavy. She tore a strip off her tunic, which stayed relatively clean in between her coat and undershirt, and pressed it against the injury. She took the coat off and tied the improvised bandage to her shoulder with another strip, clumsy in her movements as she secured the strap with one arm and a levitation charm instead of the other.</p><p>She realised now that her faint had probably been caused as much by the shortage of breath as her shock. It did not make her feel any less embarrassed for it, though.</p><p>Feeling responsible for the dwarves she'd taken to guard, and then abandoned during her humiliating episode, her eyes swept guiltily along the river, afraid of what she'd see. There was a pile of bodies, but they all seemed to be orcs? She couldn't tell for sure. Only one or two goats though, and that filled her with hope.</p><p>Casting her eyes further around, she spotted the dwarves rushing their mounts down the cliffside. It was impossible to count them, what with the goats constantly overtaking each other on their nonexistent paths. Also, there appeared to be a massive bear leading the procession. Two dwarves rode on its back. Squinting her eyes, she thought she recognised Kíli and Fíli by their mops of hair and golden armor. If Harry's eyes weren't deceiving her, Kíli was clutching his older brother, only his arms securing Fíli to their mount.</p><p>Fíli's obvious difficulty to stay upright put the whole rushed retreat back to the Mountain in a very different perspective. With dread settling in the pit of her stomach, she once again turned to the frozen river where the dwarves had taken up their stand. Knowing her cursed luck in situations such as this, she wasn't even surprised when her eyes easily landed on a familiar dagger, lying a bit further away from the cluster of bodies. She was almost positive it was the same one she'd seen an <em>Imperius</em>-freed orc thrust into Fíli's shoulder.</p><p>Wary of waylaid arrows, she stayed put at the edge of the waterfall, disillusioned once again, and levitated the dagger over, so low above the ground that it looked like it was just sliding on the ice.</p><p>She brought it to her nose, sniffing, sure of what she would find.</p><p>Only to frown and sniff the blade again. She brought it closer to her eyes, turning it over to check both sides. But there was no smell, nor any visible signs of poison.</p><p>This was... much more luck than what she was normally afforded. With new hope growing in her chest, her eyes returned to the stampeding bear and his riders. She sent a silent wish after Fíli, for the dwarven healers to be good ones.</p><p>She settled down on the ice to breathe through the rest of the way to full composure. Leaning against a nearby boulder, she sat observing the end of the battle. The elves and eagles were rather effective at slaughtering the orcs up here on the hill, and she saw the edges of the orc army already turning tails. They would all start fleeing soon. At the foot of the waterfall, the fighting had all but stopped, the orcs now scattered and disappearing from the nape of the Mountain into the Lake Hills. She could see many black dots running down towards the lake, and she spared a quick thought for Lake-town, hoping their burned bridge would indeed discourage the rogue orcs.</p><p>The moment her eyes found the retreating dwarves again, down below her, almost at the bottom of the valley, the great black bear suddenly slowed down, his strides losing all their urgency.</p><p>Up on the hill, Harry recoiled, as if struck.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I like changing POVs not only when I'm writing, but also as a reader. I've always enjoyed narratives that let you view the hero through the eyes of another. As an extreme example of this effect, here's one of my favourites, recounting a different battle, the HP canon Battle of Hogwarts, through the words of Potterwatch reporters:</p><p><a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7825277/1/Our-Sad-Duty"><i>Our Sad Duty</i></a> by <i>Hippothestrowl</i></p><p>It's a truly entertaining one-shot that will very quickly grab you, as the defining moments of the Battle get described on-air with more feeling and sensation than they could ever be narrated by the protagonist himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Whirlwind: Harry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fíli did die on the back of the great bear, still a long way to the healing tents.</p><p>Harry learned so when eavesdropping above the dwarven camp which was quickly growing in front of Erebor's gates, now that the fighting had ended. The dwarves were subdued as they raised their city of canvas, solemn at the loss of the crown prince despite their decisive victory.</p><p>She didn't stay long, only as long as she needed to observe enough of the proceedings to be able to sneak inside the healing tents. She stole clean bandages and a jar of the same salve she'd watched the dwarves there using on cuts and lacerations. Once she had her provisions, she hastily flew back up into the Hills, thankful for the eastward wind that easily carried her over the distance without much help from her wings, sore as her whole right side was even with the most careful of movements. She chose a spot at random, a ledge barely wide enough for her bum to fit once she transformed back into a witch, but fit she did, her legs hanging over the edge.</p><p>The salve smelled of honey when she sniffed it, and of herbs she didn't recognise. She spread a generous layer over her wound, wincing at its burn. With the help of a Levitation Charm, she wrapped the fresh bandage over the injury and around her shoulder, perfectly aware the cut would have to be stitched at some point, but utterly unwilling to deal with that problem now. She donned her cloak again, and finally allowed herself to slump against the cold stones behind her back, eyes staring at the settling battlefield down below her, seeing none of it.</p><p>One out of fourteen was a good ratio. One dead against thirteen alive dwarves (and a hobbit) out of those she'd met in Lake-town─that <em>was</em> a good ratio, for a battle as chaotic as this one had been, when bad luck killed as often as inexperience or mistake.</p><p>She wasn't surprised the dwarves did not look at it as such. She didn't, either.</p><p>She knew the final count of casualties would have been much higher if she hadn't stepped in with her many curses. She had saved a lot of lives today, civilians and soldiers both.</p><p>But that did not appease her guilty conscience, not even one little bit, for she could have saved more. She had the power to save more and she hadn't used it. And for what? Because she'd refused to risk this holiday turning sour?</p><p>Over the course of her long life, Harry had made many mistakes. She'd been reckless more times than she could count, she'd been blind, and stupid and gullible. However, it hadn't happened often that she'd turn out a coward.</p><p>She didn't rightly know what to think of it.</p><p>She blinked at the Orcish dagger she found herself once again clutching in her hand. According to the healers, Fíli didn't die of the wound in his shoulder─he'd received many more and the one that opened his abdomen proved to be the fastest to kill him. Would he have managed to block it, had his shoulder been working properly? She would never know.</p><p>What she did know was that if she had burned those bats and then proceeded to burn the wargs, the group of dwarves would have safely escaped behind the advancing Elven archers, and none of them would have gotten hurt.</p><p>Instead, she'd chosen to protect her anonymity for a few days longer, fumbling her way through the rest of the fight. She'd got stabbed by a dagger, for Merlin's sake! How much slower did a thrown blade fly compared to a curse? She hadn't noticed the two orcs until they'd been almost upon her, and she'd bloody <em>fainted</em>!</p><p>She'd be editing that part out when telling this story back home.</p><p>She'd been out of her element out there at the waterfall, that was bloody obvious. But her guilt had only now made her see the true reason for it. It hadn't been because she'd got thrown into a strange world, no─but because she'd thrown herself into a plan where she wouldn't do her best.</p><p>All because of her fear to attract attention.</p><p>She couldn't scoff at that fear, though.</p><p>She'd been struggling with her fame since the moment she'd learned of it. No matter how well she'd learnt to carry it─and even wield it, yes─she'd never stopped longing for a life without it. She managed to disappear once in a while, but the price for staying incognito usually outgrew the advantages pretty quickly, as connected as life had gotten at the end of the twenty-first century.</p><p>And then, she'd got transported into Middle-earth.</p><p>She was self-aware enough to notice herself stalling─she definitely hadn't been researching a way out as intensively as she could, because she was bloody <em>enjoying</em> this medieval world. Most of her magic wouldn't work, there was no electricity, <em>no</em> <em>elasticity</em>, the towns stunk and people washed nowhere near often enough. And yet, none of this mattered <em>because no one cared who Hattie Potter was and what she did with her time</em>.</p><p>She'd made the decision months ago, to treasure and protect that anonymity.</p><p>Then what was with all this moping now?</p><p>Harry let out a frustrated groan, grabbed the dagger by the tip and threw it into the air with all the power her left hand could muster.</p><p>She stopped its flight a moment later, long before it could land on some poor bastard's head. Watching it levitate back into her palm, she attempted to get her thoughts into order.</p><p>She'd wanted both─to preserve her longed for anonymity, and to stay true to her life's dedication to prevent as many unnecessary deaths as she could.</p><p>And now, she was pissed when these two wishes turned out to be mutually exclusive.</p><p>That seemed to sum it up alright.</p><p>What to do now, then?</p><p>It seemed her mind did have an answer, conjuring it up in a voice that sounded remarkably like a young Hermione. <em>You know this one, Hattie, you great moping lumbhead. Make your choice and learn to live with the consequences.</em></p><p>And then, as if an afterthought, she heard Rami speaking, her memory easily supplying his words. "<em>No one could rightly begrudge you a bit of selfishness. You might even seem more human for it."</em></p><p>She threw the dagger again, this time making sure it would land on the slopes below her, and left it there. It was ugly.</p><p>Then, she jumped; headfirst into the valley.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She transformed into a peregrine long before anyone could spot her. Soaring over the valley, she was quick to spot Bard on his white horse, riding through the dwarven camp. Her head dropped when she saw who he kept for company─Thranduil and Gandalf rode at his left, their mounts trotting towards a tent in the middle of the camp, standing noticeably higher than its neighbours.</p><p>Steeling herself against yet another maddenly tiresome council, she swooped down to the camp. She was almost level with the roofs when it occurred to her she didn't actually have to be present for the talks.</p><p>She wasn't making any decisions, nor was she representing anyone─for once, she didn't have to be where the next plans were to be discussed. Sure, it could prove useful to listen to what else Gandalf had to say about the magic she'd thrown around today, but the thing was, she <em>really</em> didn't want to.</p><p>Bard would tell her all the important bits later, she decided. Flapping her wings carefully, she gained height once again, and with newfound energy shot high above Bard's head. She turned to leave the dwarven camp behind, but before she reached its edge, her feathers ruffled in that unmistakable feeling of someone's eyes focused on you.</p><p>Making a circle in the air, she turned her head back, looking to see who'd meet her gaze. There, next to the entrance to what she knew were the healing tents, stood a tall man with his face turned upwards, following her flight with a look of sharp interest. She'd never seen him before─not in Lake-town, the Iron Hills, nor on any of the farms in between. She would have remembered─he definitely stood out, not just literally with his rather impressive height, but also with his mane of wild hair and his clothing, braving the frost of the day only in a light tunic. She wondered what his business with Dwarves was, but mostly, she just felt uneasy under his fierce glare that had too much of a knowing glint to it.</p><p>She quickly turned tail and headed towards Dale.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She didn't get quite that far because halfway across the distance to the city, another idea hit her. Knowing it had to be done now, even though she very much wanted to find a bath and a bed, she instead dropped to the bottom of the valley. It took her a moment to find a spot of ground not covered with corpses, but she landed on one such, already on her boot-clad feet.</p><p>It was a very gruesome sight that surrounded her, and she steeled her stomach against it. This needed to be done, a job as any other.</p><p>It had only been three or so hours since the killing stopped. The cold would also help, not only with the smell, but it would have kept away the postmortem rigidity for just a bit longer. She cast her eyes over the battlefield, discarding the orc corpses. It took her blessedly long before her gaze fell on a piece of dwarvish armor─there weren't many of their soldiers fallen. She carefully found her way to the dwarf, wincing every time she inevitably stepped on a body part.</p><p>The dwarf's helmet was nowhere near his head, so she could clearly see that he was red-haired, round-cheeked and awfully young. His eyes still closed easily when she pulled down on the lids. She sent a quick thought to his loved ones, wherever they were, as she rested her palm over his eyes for a silent moment.</p><p>She had a look at his injuries next. The fatal wound seemed to be the slash across his abdomen. She quickly averted her eyes when she realised it was only his armor that kept his guts still close to the rest of the body. That was… maybe a bit daunting of a problem for her first try. Luckily, there was also a stab wound across his forearm, poisoned most likely, judging by the blackened tissue along the cut. That would be a much more sensible place to start.</p><p>She took off the part of his armor that covered his forearm, a vamprace, or some such name, to see the gash in its entirety. Then, she flicked her wand out of its holster and levitated some of the visible putrid mesh out of the wound and the lad's veins. Or at least, she tried to. A layer of healthy muscles and tissue followed, nearly hollowing the forearm down to the bone.</p><p>She quickly let go of the charm, cursing and wincing, but the damage was already done.</p><p>She'd expected failure. She knew that levitation charm was meant to grasp and lift the entirety of the concept the caster held in mind, especially if physically connected to any other parts. In her mind, she'd tried to distinguish the notion of the poison from the rest of the body as precisely as she could, but it would be too naive to expect it to work well on the first try. Still, this visceral of a reaction…</p><p>She turned her head towards the sky, away from the corpses at her feet, and took one deep breath. Then, she leaned over the dead dwarf's forearm again and squinted her eyes in concentration.</p><p>Only to let all of that air out a moment later and let her shoulders sag in defeat. No… just no. No matter how practical the spell could turn out to be if she adjusted it for healing, she did not have the stomach for this. She'd practice on something else first, maybe separating-</p><p>She froze.</p><p>Something moved closeby. She heard the shuffling of leather, and then a painful gasp.</p><p>She quickly turned her head towards the sound and met a pair of brown eyes, staring at her from a bearded face.</p><p>"Hello," she said dumbly in her surprise.</p><p>The dwarf didn't answer, his eyes glazed over and blinking slowly. Harry hurried over the two orc corpses separating them, and quickly scrutinized the dwarf's armor clad body. His helmet was also gone and his hair was matted with dried blood at his temple─probably from the same blow that had left him unconscious up until now. A deep cut along his collar bone left the shirt underneath his chainmail soaked with blood and his face awfully pale. He'd been bleeding for a while. The cut couldn't have opened any major arteries though, otherwise he'd have been long dead by now. There was still a trickle of fresh blood oozing from the wound.</p><p>Seeing his breath quickening, she sent him into sleep with a gentle spell, before he could go into a full blown shock. Looking at her dirt stained fingers, she shrugged helplessly at the lack of any ideas on how to clean them. Low on options, she conjured a small but bright flame over the tip of her wand, stiff and unwavering even in the breeze, and poised it over the wound.</p><p>"Oi! Get out of here, you scamp!"</p><p>She extinguished the flame and snapped her wand back into its holster even as she whipped her head towards the sound. Two dwarves were clumping over the corpses towards her, waving their axes above their heads.</p><p>She calmed down─they were too far to have seen anything, and they carried a stretcher between them.</p><p>"This one is alive," she called back. "But hurry."</p><p>She saw them hesitate at that, but soon, they were once again stammering towards her. "Get out of here, you greedy bastard! Have you no shame?" one of them shouted.</p><p>At first, she got alarmed they'd seen her practising, but with relief she quickly realised they just took her for a thief, robbing off the corpses.</p><p>She got to her feet, spun on her heel and started running away from the approaching dwarves. She hoped they'd prioritize the life of the wounded soldier over chasing her, but she wasn't taking any chances. She cast her eyes for the nearest boulder big enough to hide her, and jumped behind it, disappearing from their sight. Sparing one last look over her shoulder, she was glad to see that the two dwarves were indeed busy loading up their injured kin onto the stretcher.</p><p>She transformed and took flight.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She briefly contemplated landing somewhere else on the vast battlefield, and experimenting some more.</p><p>But… no, still no.</p><p>She doubted any experiments would turn productive today, in her current mood. She'd come back to it later, and preferably not on corpses at first. Maybe she could also learn something about the medical practices available here?</p><p>She headed straight towards their rooms in Dale, expecting them to still be empty. She was right. She flew in through the window she'd left open in the morning, and changed next to her cot. She gathered a set of fresh clothes into her arms, a bar of soap. A moment later, a peregrine was soaring down to the shore of the lake.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Bard found her an hour later. She was sitting on battlements far away from anyone, but still in plain sight, should he have a need of her. By then, she was freshly washed, had eaten, donned clean clothes to cover her bandages and was once again staring down at the valley. The townsfolk were marching back from Erebor now, guarded by a line of armed men on both sides of the procession.</p><p>The fact that Bard came to seek her out, instead of accompanying his family, told her the day was not over yet.</p><p>He bent down to her seat to embrace her in a one-arm hug, clearly relieved to see her. She breathed him in, equally glad to have him close again after a day like this, and what's more, unharmed.</p><p>He let go of quickly though, and when he looked at her afterwards, there was a wary glint to his eyes that hadn't used to be there, not even after the dragon.</p><p>"There's a man in the camp that can turn into a bear at will," he said. "Is he your kin?"</p><p>Strangely, she immediately knew which man─and bear─he was talking about. "No, not my kin."</p><p>Bard readily nodded. "I have thought as much. You seem to be rather more."</p><p>She winced at that description. Finding no answer that wouldn't be lying, she instead turned her gaze back to the valley.</p><p>"The wizard thinks it was some great elven lady from a far away forest realm who lent her powers to our aid today," Bard said next. "He seems a wise man, this Gandalf the Grey, though perhaps in this one instance, he's rather ill-informed."</p><p>"Hm."</p><p>"Harry-" Bard's voice gained sudden urgency. "What you did today- When I saw the orcs advancing on the children, unprotected and too far away from anyone who could help, my whole family down there at the bottom of the valley- I will never be able to express my gratitude enough. But please, know that you have it."</p><p>Harry let out a soft sigh. After a moment of hesitation, she patted the brick seat next to her in an invitation.</p><p>Bard sat down, swinging his legs over the wall and facing the valley much like she did. He waited patiently for her to speak again, for which she was grateful.</p><p>"Back home, I would be imprisoned for life for what I did today," she started at long last, "or more likely, executed." It would be the Kiss, but Bard didn't need to know the specifics. She shuddered at the thought of wandering the world as a soulless husk. Or worse yet, as in her most horrible nightmares, being locked up, dying over and over again, with no hope for the cycle to ever break.</p><p>In practice, she knew she'd never let herself be taken in. However, up until now, she'd thought she would never let herself commit such atrocities in the first place. And yet, here she was.</p><p>"The curse I used, it takes away your free will and gives it to the caster, to do away with it as he wishes. We call it unforgivable, and truly never forgive its use on another intelligent being, no matter the circumstances."</p><p>"But surely, today, the trolls would-"</p><p>"<em>No exceptions</em>, Bard, not even today would count. Because once you allow the curse to be justifiable, people <em>will</em> try to justify it. Look at this day─we both agree the orcs needed to be stopped. I used the curse against the trolls because I didn't see any other option. But then, later, I played with the idea of using it on Thranduil, in jest mostly, but it would have certainly made him move his archers up onto Ravenhill faster and perhaps save more lives. It's a very steep hill, Bard, and especially slippery when paved with good intentions."</p><p>She glanced at him through the corner of her eye, but quickly averted it when she saw him gazing at her sharply under his furrowed brows.</p><p>"I'm telling you this because I don't want to be praised for what I did today on that battlefield. When the orcs burst from the ground, I made the decision to rather face the guilt of cursing the trolls, than having the blood of the townsfolk on my hands." And she still stood by that decision.</p><p>"Rather conveniently, there's no one here to judge me for it, but myself─and now, you. I understand what you lot think of Orcs and Trolls, and you probably won't condemn me for any wrongs done to them, but please, with what you've now heard, for the sake of my sanity, don't praise me either."</p><p>She waited then, tense and silent, for Bard's next words.</p><p>In the meantime, her thoughts continued to swirl in the same mess of guilt and rationalisation they'd got tangled in last night, since discussing Orcs with Bain and since her pencilled-in decision to look at this world's division between good and evil through this world's dogmatic eyes.</p><p>"If you're seeking judgement," Bard finally spoke up. "I'm afraid I cannot give it, for my eyes are blinded by gratitude. And I'm afraid they'll always stay so. But I'm glad you've shared the burden of your thoughts with me."</p><p>Harry could feel his eyes searching for her own, so she gave in and turned to meet his gaze. They were warm, warmer than when he'd met her here on the battlements.</p><p>"I will not pretend it doesn't calm some of my worries to hear you feel responsible for your actions, even if I can't see anything wrong with them myself. You seem to wield great power, and this life taught me to be wary of such a thing. However, I have not seen you do anything with it but help me and mine, and for that, you'll always have my trust and my friendship."</p><p>When he clasped her shoulder─on her uninjured side, thank Merlin─to further convey his point, Harry idly thought that for all the rather stunted emotional warmth the people of this world showed in day-to-day interactions─not entirely dissimilar to your proper stand-offish British family, actually─they could turn quite dramatic in the moments that mattered. She reached up and squeezed Bard's hand resting on her shoulder.</p><p>"I came here to ask for more of your help," he said next, letting go of her. "The orcs have fled wild and far. Thranduil and Dain had both sent soldiers to chase them, but there are many leagues between them and many trails to follow. I fear for the farms around the lake, and down south, along the river. They will prove an easy picking for the rogue orcs."</p><p>"I'll fly out right away," Harry said, already rising to her feet. This was an aid she was perfectly willing to provide─hunting orcs in the woods of the lake, far away from anyone's sight. Especially from Gandalf's, who could be finding the fault in his assumptions anytime soon.</p><p>"You should pack provisions. This could be a task for many days, if not weeks."</p><p>She smirked. "A falcon is capable of hunting other prey than just poisonous dragons."</p><p>When Bard winced at that reminder, she only laughed. After all, he <em>had</em> just promised he would stay her friend even through her oddities. She was going to take him up on his word.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She did pack a small bag before setting off, a change of clothes and some other comforts, as she didn't fancy the idea of staying a bird for the full few weeks. She also took Sigrid's sewing kit, knowing that after a tweak or two with spells, it would serve well enough for her wound. Sooner rather than later, the cut would have to be stitched, even if she had to <em>Imperius</em> another orc to do it, should she find herself without the nerve to close the wound on her own.</p><p>Five short minutes after saying her goodbyes to Bard, she was on her way to her usual courtyard.</p><p>Only to find it already occupied. She recognised the bear man by his silhouette right away─there weren't many as tall as him. He stepped out of the shadow and strode closer to where she stood stiff in her initial surprise, towering over her almost as much as Hagrid once had.</p><p>He seemed to inhale a lungful of air, obviously sniffing her, and she went to curse her predictability; she grew complacent in this strange world with very few magic users─he must have easily traced her usual routes.</p><p>"You're going hunting," he rumbled in a deep voice, a surprisingly pleasant one, and gave her a pause─of all the things he could obviously accuse her of, this was not the one she'd thought he would lead with.</p><p>"Take me with you," he said next.</p><p>That wasn't an option. She wanted to do this alone, and not just because she wanted to use her magic freely. She needed time on her own. "I don't see how that would work."</p><p>"I'm a fast runner."</p><p>"And I'm faster still," she bit back.</p><p>He straightened up his back. "Let me prove I can keep up with you."</p><p>That was ridiculous─she'd be miles away from here by the time he managed to get out of the gates.</p><p>She shrugged. "You're welcome to try."</p><p>"Wait," he stopped her when she buckled her knees for a jump. "Head south-east first. The orcs know of the Long Marshes along the Forest River, they would avoid the west bank of the lake and head for the farmsteads in the east. There are many caves along the slopes─they'll move alongside the hills, to take cover from sunlight."</p><p>She nodded, trusting in his expertise.</p><p>"Why do you want to go with me?" she couldn't help but ask before leaving.</p><p>"It's been a while since I shared a hunt."</p><p>Seeing the intensity in his eyes, she remembered Bard's question and grew uneasy. "We're not really a- a kin. You know that, right?"</p><p>His lips twitched into a smirk. "I do know that."</p><p>Something about his smile- oh. <em>Ooh.</em></p><p>Flustered and woefully unprepared to deal with advances whilst she still believed everyone to think her a man, she only took a wobbly half a step away from him. Of course he knew better. He could sniff her out to be a human whilst she'd soared tens of metres above his head. Of course he could sniff her out to be a woman, too, now that she stood in front of him.</p><p>She frowned at him, truly annoyed now. But another thought occurred to her, and ever the pragmatic, she couldn't ignore the idea. "Are you any good with sewing?" she asked around a great sigh of resignation.</p><p>His impressive brows furrowed in confusion, but next, he was glancing towards the right of her chest. With no further surprise, Harry realised he must have smelled the bandages which had probably gone all bloody again from the open injury. Instead of being annoyed at the ease with which he continued to breach her privacy, she just felt glad at not having to explain further.</p><p>He nodded, his grin now fully gone, replaced by a solemn frown. "I've treated many wounds before."</p><p>"Well, good," she said, and she <em>was</em> glad, for the promise of help she read in his answer, as well as for the chance to stop him from blabbering her secrets to others, even though she might sacrifice some of her solitude in the next few days for it. "You'll find me near the caves of the Lake Hills, then. Not a word to anyone, though."</p><p>He only smirked at her again.</p><p>So she jumped and transformed without another word, leaving him far behind for now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter's recommendation is <em>so</em> outside my preferences, I don't know how starved for well-written stories I must have been when I first clicked on it. And then I clicked again.</p><p><em><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937535/chapters/13653400">love is touching souls (surely you touched mine)</a></em> by <em>ToAStranger (ao3)</em></p><p>I return to this story whenever I need a reminder that Harry wasn't written as a powerhouse, but that his strength lies in his courage and kindness, and that he wields those as the sharpest of weapons like the badass-mother-f*cker he is. I don't usually write a canon Harry, I prefer to create excuses that would distance him from the teenager in the books (like 100 years of a hard life, as used in this story) but I always try to show the kindness surviving underneath the new thick hide.</p><p>Today's rec is a slash, and even if you're like me and don't generally read that, I'm still bold enough to encourage you to read this piece, at least up until chapter 7, and get reminded of what an amazingly strong character Rowling wrote even without all the embellishments we tend to give him in our stories.</p><p>.</p><p>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Whirlwind: Bard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How Alfrid had managed to sneak inside the Mountain among the women and children of Dale whilst most of Lake-town's folk and even its Master perished under the swords and torches of the fleeing orcs, no one but Alfrid would ever know. He'd been less successful sneaking out though, and got caught with a corset-full of Erebor jewels.</p><p>Now, three months after the Battle, when both Dale and Erebor had survived the beginning of winter and secured the means to hopefully live through the rest, the time had finally come to deal with the less urgent matters, Alfrid's trial among them.</p><p>Bard would not blink an eye should the weasel continue to rot in the Mountain's dungeons, but the Dwarves were right to say that the case presented a good opportunity to revise the rules for the conflict of their laws. After all, Alfrid was a citizen of Lake-town, now named Esgaroth again. Burnt down and almost abandoned as it lay, it still belonged to Bard's jurisdiction, and so did Alfrid. On the other hand, his crime had been committed on Dwarven land, and against them.</p><p>Bard had very few tools to navigate these waters apart from his common sense. He trusted the dwarves of Erebor to be honourable, and they had proven to be good neighbours so far, but he also knew them to be shrewd negotiators. As little as he cared about Alfrid's fate, he worried for the precedent he would set with his inexperience.</p><p>That was why he wasn't willing to accept any proposals during the first meeting with the dwarves, no matter how straightforward they first appeared. He could see the moment Balin realised that was the case─the old dwarf ceased his attempts to finalise their agreement in one sit, as they had done previously, when talking about matters that Bard knew something about─like fish. Or timber. Or cattle.</p><p>"Shall we set another meeting, then; three days from hence, perhaps?"</p><p>Bard thought of the thick law books now spread all over the table in their kitchens. "Let's make it a week. I will take full responsibility for causing Alfrid to sit imprisoned without a sentence for that much longer."</p><p>"He's been rather vocal about that lately," Glóin said, a wicked smirk twitching his beard. "The guards tell us they always hear him complaining─on each of the weekly visits they come to feed him!"</p><p>Bard winced, imagining someone else from his neighbours enjoying such hospitality.</p><p>"Glóin only jests," Balin was quick to add. "I won't claim the accommodation is pleasant, but we've been feeding him enough to survive this long, even when we have so little food to spare ourselves."</p><p>Bard only nodded stiffly in response.</p><p>"If I may impose on your time for a few minutes more, I hoped to have a word in private," Balin spoke again.</p><p>Bard thought he rather knew what this was about, and he inclined his head only very reluctantly.</p><p>Glóin, Ori and the Iron Hill dwarf whose name Bard had forgotten soon after being introduced, quickly exited Bard's office, left to the gentle care of Sigrid, who had graciously added the position of his attendant to her already long list of obligations. He was constantly left with the feeling he did not thank his daughter even remotely often enough.</p><p>"There's another offense that needs to be addressed. Or more precisely, two counts of offense, one perpetrator," Balin went straight to the heart of the matter when the door had clicked shut behind Sigrid's back.</p><p>He paused to give Bard a chance to speak, but Bard did not intend to make this any easier on the Dwarves.</p><p>Balin let out a rather articulate sigh but did carry on. "We know that the Easterling stays with your family in this house, although he conveniently disappears whenever we've arrived for an audience. The King requests him to be brought into the Mountain for a hearing."</p><p>That was hardly a surprise. The only thing surprising was the fact that the dwarves had waited so long to approach this. "On what charges?" he asked, regardless.</p><p>Balin shot him an unimpressed glare but spelled out the accusations just the same. "On the charge of theft and subsequent destruction of the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain, treasured heirloom of the Kings of Erebor. And on the charge of assaulting the King under the Mountain himself."</p><p>How hefty it sounded when put like that. Bard raised his chin, openly staring at Balin across the desk, ready to disperse with the pompous talk. He'd always lacked the patience for it. "We both know he destroyed the stone because it was possessing your king. And he only put Thorin to sleep so you dwarves could start preparing for the army of orcs on our doorstep."</p><p>"And if that was indeed all there was to his motivation, a hearing could and would clear any misunderstandings and settle our differences."</p><p>"Don't try to play me a fool, Balin─you wouldn't have approached me with this in secrecy, only after the others have left the room, had you truly planned to give Harry a fair trial."</p><p>"We understand he's a close friend to your family. As our most valuable ally, we regard this delicate matter with the caution it deserves─as of now, only the members of the Company know of his transgressions."</p><p>"And you also cannot forget that the lad saved the life of the other nephew. The only heir Thorin has left."</p><p>Balin winced at the reminder. "Aye, there's that."</p><p>"Would Harry receive a nod of gratitude whilst being pushed into your dungeons?"</p><p>"It would not come to that."</p><p>"Is that your word? Can you guarantee Harry would be treated fairly if he goes anywhere near your Mountain?"</p><p>Balin didn't answer right away. Bard followed him with his eyes as the old dwarf slipped down from his seat and paced the few steps towards the windows, showing a generous view of the Gates of Erebor in the distance.</p><p>"Grief is often blind, and lashes out in all directions," Balin said then. "When Thorin woke, a battle had been fought without him, and his nephew lay dead. He blames himself for not being the one to lead his warriors, not the one to die in defense of his home and his loved ones. And he also blames the Easterling for being the cause of it."</p><p>Bard nodded in appreciation for Balin's sincerity, even as he felt his face contort into a frown. "And yet, you would have me hand him over?"</p><p>"No," Balin breathed out, shoulders sagging. "I would not recommend such a course of action."</p><p>Bard waited in confusion whilst Balin gathered his thoughts.</p><p>"I've delivered my King's message, as was his bidding. Now, as my own conscience dictates, I implore you to send the lad away instead. He would not receive justice had he stood in front of Thorin as the King is now, ridden with grief and shame. But he cannot remain under your protection either, not for much longer, for it would surely create a chasm between our two realms, one that we can ill afford this early into our cooperation."</p><p>Bard began shaking his head even though he recognised some truth in the dwarf's words. But sending Harry away was not an option.</p><p>Not just for the fact that the lad's help was invaluable to Bard and Dale right now. Had that been the only reason, Bard would have simply chosen to learn to manage without Harry's aid. He suspected he might have to one day regardless, as he was beginning to understand Harry was as restless as the wind that often carried him on his wings.</p><p>Very much unlike the Lonely Mountain and her dwarves, who would stand as Dale's closest neighbours for many centuries to come. Had this been the whole of it, the choice between Harry's fable─if great─help and the dwarves' steadfastness would be an easy one.</p><p>All of that paled before the real reason why Bard could never take back his promise of friendship. All the people in Dale who survived the dragon's attack and the orcs army were indebted to Harry in ways the dwarves of Erebor could never understand, nor replicate.</p><p>"I had given the lad my word, Balin. I won't take back my protection, neither to hand him over to Thorin, nor to send him away from the home I promised he'd always have in Dale."</p><p>Balin hung his head, though there was very little surprise in the gesture. "And yet, for all our sakes, I ask you to think of an alternative. What does the boy think? From what I've seen of him, I doubt he'd like to be the cause of a rift that would be costly to both sides."</p><p>Bard frowned, in annoyance at the manipulative question, but also at the knowledge Harry had most likely heard it. He had the uncanny ability to perch on the balcony of Bard's office for most of the important conversations, especially once dwarves had chased him out of the house. There was very little chance he would have missed this one.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As was the custom by now, Harry had reappeared within minutes once the last dwarf rode out of the city walls. Bard heard him talking to Bain as the two of them walked onto the courtyard below the windows of Bard's office. He rose from his desk to inspect, finding them just when they shed their outer coats and picked up their practice swords for a spar.</p><p>Bard leant against the wall by the window, settling in for a watch.</p><p>Bain was improving, his reactions steadily getting more instinctual and thus faster for it, although it took Bard only a few short minutes to collect enough issues to fill up the next practice session or two.</p><p>Harry, on the other hand, continued to be abysmal. He was already dreadfully clumsy with his dominant arm, but for reasons known only to him, he insisted on using mostly his left. It left him woefully inaccurate and imbalanced, and his strikes weak whenever he failed to imbue them with whatever strange power lent him his sudden bursts of strength. His restlessness was his greatest hindrance, though, and Bard was ashamed to admit he was swiftly reaching the end of his own patience as a teacher, faced with Harry's flippant approach. Even young Tilda had shown more perseverance.</p><p>Even now, Bard hesitated to come down onto the courtyard, rather worried he'd be persuaded into an impromptu lesson. He glanced back at his table, searching for an excuse, but his eyes only landed at Balin's proposal, taking the prime spot on the desk.</p><p>Resigned to the risk of a sparring lesson, he seized the notes and headed down the stairs. He learned early on that matters needed to be dealt with immediately when an opportunity presented itself, as one was sure to be interrupted with a fresh problem soon.</p><p>"It doesn't have to <em>be</em> good─as long as it <em>looks</em> good enough," Harry's voice carried over the clunks of the wooden swords as Bard stepped into the freezing cold of the winter afternoon. He bristled at the now familiar excuse.</p><p>He was spotted almost immediately. "Bard! Does this look at all natural?"</p><p>Harry proceeded to attack Bain's sword, not Bain himself, raking its edge under a strange angle. Harry's own blade gained a glistening sheen for a moment, as if a reflection of a red flame ran along its length, and then Bain's sword was flying from his hands and into Harry's.</p><p>During the past two months, Harry had insisted on giving Bard plenty of opportunities to get accustomed to his strange ways. Even now, Bard only blinked, suppressed his bewilderment, and simply answered the question he was asked. "You barely touched his blade."</p><p>Harry's excited face fell. "Well…" he said and continued for a few more words in his mother tongue.</p><p>"What did you say?" Bain asked.</p><p>Harry shortly tilted his head in contemplation. "<em>Dale wasn't built in a day</em>. It means that every great thing takes some time to create, or in this case, practice." He paused to frown at the blade in his left hand. "At least the beam is almost gone."</p><p>He seemed to notice the scrolls in Bard's hand next. "Is that it?" he asked, dread spilling into his tone.</p><p>Bard nodded. "Shall we?"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Bard found very little aid among his people when it came to the finer matters of governing a city. The one scribe Lake-town could afford to employ was the weasel who now rotted in Erebor's dungeons. Most of the townsfolk were illiterate, and none of them were familiar with the books of law from the Dale of old. A fact that Bard intended to change as swiftly as possible, starting with his own family.</p><p>In the meantime, he once again found an unlikely source of help in the scrawny lad that looked barely older than Bain. And yet, he appeared to be given education able to rival Balin's. However, very much unlike Erebor's Royal advisor, Harry parted with his wisdom with only great reluctance.</p><p>Actually, Bard had never seen him complain so much when offering help before. Certainly not when Bard had sent him off to hunt down rogue orcs scattered across the wilds, nor when he'd left again to shepherd a trip of goats through already snowed under passes. Come to think of it, he hadn't said a word of complaint when the whole city was called to the fields, to pick the rocks out of the vast farmlands south of Dale. Nor had he hesitated when all men went to bury the bones of the long dead.</p><p>And yet, when he'd seen Bard bowing helplessly over the moldy books that first night, Harry had heaved a great sigh of suffering and let out a lot of empty threats since.</p><p>That had been a long week ago.</p><p>"Back home, they couldn't have <em>tortured</em> me into this," he let them know once again when they settled down around their kitchen table, Sigrid and Tilda joining them with a tray of tea and biscuits.</p><p>Bard knew by now to ignore the grumbling and distract Harry instead. He placed Balin's scrolls on the table right in front of Harry's chair at the same time Sigrid had passed him a steaming cup of tea. Harry shot them both a knowing glare, but went to sip on his tea and read the first scroll, blessedly without further protests.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Let the Dwarves have the choice of punishment," he was saying a few parchments and hours later, when the light of day was long gone and they'd lit lamps around the table with bright flames to see the tiny script. "Although as an act of goodwill, you can mention they should probably amend their law where it currently allows no alternative punishment to shearing a beard. I can't see that having the same effect as a deterrent on our men, let alone women.</p><p>"Afterwards, propose to add a simple condition─that the chosen punishment must comply with the fundamental principles of Dale laws. Which are? Bain?"</p><p>Bain's eyes widened at the attention suddenly being directed at him. "Ehm, I don't-"</p><p>Harry sent the lad a disapproving stare, though not unkind. "If you can't recall something, what do you say?"</p><p>"I will confirm my thoughts and announce my decision later," Bain quoted Harry in a solemn voice before rushing to add, "and then I go searching in the books."</p><p>Harry grimaced. "You do need to adjust that sentence to the situation a bit, but yes, you got it right." He passed Bain one of the thick criminal law books. "The main principles will be described right at the start."</p><p>"We can mention the basics," Harry continued, already adding notes to Balin's proposal, "and require the chosen punishment to be fair, proportionate, predictable, and all that generic drab. Any ideas why, Tilda?"</p><p>Tilda's head, which had been continuously drooping down by then, whipped up. "Because that's the right thing to do?" she answered hesitantly. "To try to ensure the punishment will be fair… and propor- proportionate to the crime?"</p><p>"Yes, sweetie," Harry was quick to smile at her. "That's certainly correct. I'm sure our honourable dwarves couldn't argue against setting such noble guarantees. Sigrid, any ideas why else it's important?"</p><p>Sigrid didn't even look up from her mending as she calmly answered. "It is as you said─it's our foot in the door for that discussion. We need to make sure we don't shut ourselves out from any part of the decision making process."</p><p>Bard couldn't help the prideful smile as Sigrid repeated Harry's previous advice almost word for word.</p><p>When plied with enough tea and biscuits, Harry proved to be an excellent tutor.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I'll be leaving once Alfrid's trial is over," Harry said when the children had gone to bed.</p><p>Bard froze where he was shuffling the books back into a semblance of order. He shook the surprise off quickly, though─or was he at all surprised? All that he felt for certain seemed to be a sudden but fierce urge to light his pipe.</p><p>"Let's talk on the balcony?" he asked, knowing Sigrid would complain of the smoke here in the kitchen, especially after Harry's perplexingly stubborn objections to it.</p><p>Harry seemed to have seen right through his request. "Those dwarves and their filthy habits. We should have dunked that first gift of tobacco before you'd had your first taste."</p><p>"It might have been better," Bard allowed, already walking away.</p><p>Harry and his soft words followed. "Tell Balin I'm willing to give in to his request and leave. In exchange, ask him to be the children's tutor. You can say it's another attempt to deepen Erebor-Dale relations, but the kids will undoubtedly get an excellent education out of it. Which I'm starting to understand is rather an expensive commodity in these parts. I'm doing my best with the four of you, but once we branch out of criminal law, I'll be out of my element─oh <em>hell</em>, it's freezing out here!"</p><p>Bard passed Harry the coat he'd snatched on their way to his office whilst Harry was busy chatting away. It wasn't like him to talk this much─and Bard wondered what made him uneasy so.</p><p>"I meant what I said to Balin─you'll always have a home in Dale," Bard hurried to assure his friend. "No matter what the dwarves say or do, I would never hand you over."</p><p>Harry, now buried deep in Bard's spare cloak, sent him a warm smile over its collar. "I know, Bard, my friend. I'm not leaving because Balin suggested it."</p><p>Bard searched Harry's eyes for a lie, but he was ready to trust his sight when he found none.</p><p>He took out his pipe and fumbled with the tobacco to stall and gather his thoughts. When it wouldn't light in the falling snow, he turned his eyes at Harry in a silent request.</p><p>"Oh no, I won't support this addiction."</p><p>Bard scoffed but didn't plead further. They stood in silence for another long minute, until Bard finally cracked a spark just so and the leaves caught fire.</p><p>"When you killed Smaug and asked that I'd take the deed for my own," Bard finally started, "a part of me resented you for it. It'd worsen when you refused to take charge, even though you obviously had more experience with leading a people than me."</p><p>"I told you, you would have killed the dragon anyway, just a few minutes later."</p><p>"I've grown out of such thoughts, though," Bard continued, paying Harry's well-repeated objections little mind. "I understand now that you're not to be chained to one city, one people─you've helped us more than anyone in Dale will ever understand, and now when the worst of our struggles are over, the time has come for you to continue on your journey. You've always been meant for something more."</p><p>There was a beat of silence, before Harry's arm whipped out of the tangle of cloth and snatched Bard's pipe. "You obviously spent too much time with Gandalf, that fanciful fool," Harry grumbled, before he drew in a deep inhale of the tobacco.</p><p>Bard was still a novice, keeping to careful, short puffs. Harry, however, let out a cloud of smoke that immediately engulfed his whole head when he exhaled─smoothly, without a single cough. "No, still disgusting," he said then, handing the pipe back.</p><p>"You got it all rather wrong, my friend," Harry said next. "I'm not meant to do anything. Not anything small and certainly not anything big. I'm not even meant to <em>be</em> here."</p><p>Bard felt his brows furrowed in confusion. Harry sent him a small smile as he continued to explain, "Think of me as the opposite of your new acquaintance, Gandalf, the Grey Wanderer. He seems to roam Middle-earth with a great purpose guiding his steps. I intend to do a bit of roaming myself, but altogether delightfully... purposelessly."</p><p>"And," he carried on, mild reproach entering his tone, "Dale is not chaining me down. I plan to return at some point, as soon as I feel like it, and not because of some great task pulling me back, but because I'd simply like to see my friends again."</p><p>Bard took a few puffs, trying to discern whether he believed Harry's words. The lad appeared entirely certain of what he'd said, yet Bard knew how easily one's wishes could blind them to the path their steps were truly leading them on.</p><p>Either way, Bard felt it wouldn't yield any aid to Harry should he share his doubts. If Harry was meant to learn differently, it would be through his own eyes, not Bard's words. Rather, Bard asked about something else that he'd been pondering for a while now. "How about your home? Do you have anywhere else to return to?"</p><p>Harry froze. It took him a long moment to answer. "I do," he said at long last, surprising Bard with how resolute his voice sounded after his initial hesitation. "But the beauty of it is that my home will keep─as long as I wish it to. I had a revelation the other day─rather embarrassing that it took me so long, really─I've realised I'm in no rush. I've realised how big this place actually is and I'm tired of keeping to its doorstep. Flailing in the draft of the half-open door, as it is. <em>This</em> is the real reason I'm leaving, Bard. I want to discover the rest of this world, and maybe even find my own footing in it."</p><p>"Where do you plan to go, then?"</p><p>"First East, and then West."</p><p>Bard nodded at the confirmation of what he'd suspected for quite some time now─the East was not where Harry originally hailed from. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Harry's eyes soften.</p><p>"And when I come back," Harry said, "perhaps we could have a nice long chat and I'll tell you more about my home."</p><p>Harry paused for a moment, inclining his head in contemplation. Mischief lit up his eyes, and for the first time in many months, he seemed to truly look his age. "I already look forward to it."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're almost at the end of the first part─just one last, shortish installment and we have the first arc all wrapped up!</p><p>Until then, here's another recommendation.</p><p>I enjoy describing a character through the down-to-earth realism of everyday life, even in a high fantasy world such as Middle-earth. Yes, there's certainly a need for many fate-defining dramatic scenes on our quest to overcome the evil of the world, but I always like to intersect them with enough gritty ordinary moments. Speaking of grittiness, here's a favourite of mine:</p><p><a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7502511/1/The_Sea_King"><em>The Sea King</em></a> by <em>Doghead Thirteen</em></p><p>A one-shot of another adult Harry, finding his place and purpose in the deadly waters on the coast of Alaska. A Harry cool as a cucumber always gets my approval.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)</em></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Gandalf's Interlude</h2></a>
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    <p>
  <strong>Gandalf's Interlude</strong>
</p><p>There was no welcome waiting for him among the roots of the great Mallorn-trees as Gandalf walked the familiar path up the hill of Caras Galadhon. Though, perhaps every step that he took, unhindered and unengaged, could be viewed as a warm greeting, for his presence had certainly been noted, and yet, he'd been given a free roam.</p><p>He rather suspected he knew where to find the Lady, and as he was not instructed otherwise, she most likely suspected he would, too. He let out a soft sigh into his beard and headed for the well-trodden flight of steps, down to the hollow of the Mirror.</p><p>He wished he could cite the weariness of this old body and first take a rest after his long journey, but such an excuse would hardly fool his host. Still, he was weary, of mind if not of the body; the burden of constant worries and recent failures weighing heavy on his shoulders.</p><p>Galadriel was indeed by her Mirror, bowed over the calm surface of the basin, and Gandalf was only glad to leave her to her concentration. He sat down on the stone bench behind her back and lit his pipe.</p><p>She left the visions of the Mirror sometime later, returning into the moment with a sharp intake of breath that sounded close to the frustration Gandalf himself was experiencing.</p><p>"He cloaks himself well," she said. "As thoroughly as none I had ever met before."</p><p>"You cannot see him still," Gandalf surmised.</p><p>"Once I cast my sight wide enough, and once luck allows, I come across footprints that belong to seemingly no one. As such, I can follow the trail he leaves, though hardly in its entirety. But no, I cannot see <em>him</em>. He was long gone from Dunland when you arrived."</p><p>It was not posed as a question, but Gandalf still nodded, leaving his chin drooped low in his disappointment. "He had left two whole seasons before I found the farmstead." And what an arduous search that had been, through the fair but far from civilised land, made even less friendly by the Dunlending hillmen who inhabited it.</p><p>"And what have you learnt of his time there?"</p><p>"He appeared on the road one day, asking for work. Stayed with the family throughout the summer, and left once the harvest was done. He hadn't spoken much, and not at all about himself, but he had worked hard and asked for nothing else except for food and a roof over his head─and curiously enough, also riding lessons. Spent his free time roaming through the woods at the nape of the Mountains, instead of in the inns with his peers."</p><p>Galadriel inclined her head at his report. "<em>Riding lessons</em>? Is he truly that young?"</p><p>"Sixteen summers at least, by the reckoning of Dale-men. No then, not young enough to explain his inexperience. Especially given that we cannot be certain he had been kept and preserved at such an appearance for many more years. However, there are tribes in the East that live their entire lives on the Sea of Rhûn. Maybe he is one of those who teach their youth to sail atop a boat instead of riding on the back of a steed?"</p><p>"Elrond confirms the Enemy has turned his sight onto the East," Galadriel said to that. "He is combing through his allies, searching."</p><p>Gandalf puffed on his pipe before grunting, "Well, at least he's failing at tracking the lad even more spectacularly than we are."</p><p>In response, Galadriel at last turned away from the pearly surface of her Mirror, and came to join Gandalf on the bench.</p><p>Gandalf shuffled closer to the other edge, hastily folding his travel-stained robes away from the Lady and her immaculate gown.</p><p>"I will admit that up until recently, I had held some doubts; guided by hope above all else, perhaps," she said to Gandalf, her head inclined as if in apology. "Your observations could mislead us─as they have before, my friend, we mustn't forget─and there could be a different explanation as to why a Mortal, a stranger to us, could wield such power to our aid and yet be untarnished by the reek of sorcery. A bloodline long thought extinct, preserved unbeknownst to us in the far East, safeguarding the spellcasters' lore of old?</p><p>"But now I see that the Enemy has been stirred greatly, even so soon after his defeat in Mirkwood, and he searches for the Easterling with such fervour that it could only mean he discovered something of his that he had long taken for lost. I am nearly certain that you are correct, and a ring indeed augments the Easterling talents, though I no longer fear it to be only one of the unaccounted Seven, or Nine, as Saruman concluded. I no longer fear only the danger of another powerful sorcerer rising corrupted against us, but the chance of a much more condemning event."</p><p>They sat in silence for a time, filled only with the endless rustle of leaves and the soft puffs of Gandalf drawing on his pipe. He had let out three smoke-rings, all of them a bit skewed on their right side, like a waning moon, Gandalf noticed with slight irritation, before Galadriel spoke again. "You have suspected the same for a while now."</p><p>Gandalf grunted around the stem of his pipe. "I have feared the possibility, yes. The power employed in the Battle seemed unquestionable, unwavering; beating the Fell will commanding the Orc armies without true contest, as if its might was equal or even superior in that challenge. Would that be possible with only a lesser of the Great Rings on the lad's finger? Saruman appears to think so, claiming the distance would have weakened the Enemy's hold on his armies. He is the most knowledgeable of us on the matter of ring-lore, and yet, I found my worries not completely appeased. Though, I do wonder what reasons led <em>you </em>to acknowledge such a risk exists, apart from the Enemy's fervent search."</p><p>Galadriel cast her eyes back towards the basin of the Mirror.</p><p>"It is not that I cannot see the ring-bearer that troubles me so," she whispered in explanation, and the faint quiver in her voice caused Gandalf's pipe to momentarily slip from his lips. "Others hold the ability to cloak from my sight, and I have long practised glimpsing the changes they impose on the fates of those they touch, or might touch, and that is oftentimes enough. This boy, however- I can see only the past and the present he is affecting, never the future, not even the possibilities of it. And yet, I do not feel as if some force was blinding the Mirror. It is almost as if the world itself was blind to the Easterling's potential and thus the Mirror cannot foretell any of his paths either. Such power, my dear friend, troubles me greatly, as I have not come across its like ever before."</p><p>"The Ring has never truly been used by anyone but the Enemy himself," Gandalf reminded both of them. "If our worst fears are indeed correct, we can only wait to see what other powers the Ring will bestow on a gifted Bearer who has chosen to tap into its potential."</p><p>"What we have seen so far was already great," Galadriel said. "When the ring─be it the Ruling Ring or only a Great Ring─corrupts the Bearer, I dread what terrible feats we will witness then. Should he ever stand beside the Enemy-"</p><p>"We will find the lad before that happens," Gandalf said. "Unlike the retelling of the Dwarves, the accounts and minds of Dale-men offer a more favourable view of the boy. They suggest that he had been aiding them for many months, mostly in small matters, but without seeking any acknowledgement, nor reward. That leads me to believe his heart is a good one, and I shall hope it is also strong for it. It might afford us a long time before a ring possesses it."</p><p>Despite his own claims, Gandalf let out a shuddering sigh as he felt his weariness subsiding, chased away by Galadriel's urgent words. He spared her a perturbed glare as he now understood that had been her aim all along, yet he readily asked what needed to be done, "What have you seen? I shall leave right away."</p><p>The corner of her lips twitched in response to his vexed eyes. "I have heard that Turgon's Keeper of the Keys took an odd stranger for a friend. He indulges the friend and his intense fascination for the scrolls of old, often feeling guilt at opening the archives without the Steward's knowledge or permission. I wonder whether our Easterling thief had found his way South."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><em>* Turgon was the Steward of Gondor between T.A. 2914 - 2953 (the Battle of Five Armies took place in T.A. 2941), a father to Ecthelion II, grandfather to Denethor II and finally, a great-grandfather to Boromir and Faramir</em> </p><p>I know this was awfully short. However, I'd like to think that every one of the very few sentences of this tiny post is all the more important for it. Finally, we've dipped our toes into the LotR waters proper. And─we've concluded the first arc!</p><p>No recs at the end of this chapter, as I wanted to mark reaching this milestone. Also, I hoped I could stay on your mind a bit longer instead of rushing you to the next fic as usual, and perhaps ask you to leave some of your thoughts on the finished arc with me.</p><p>The first part was meant to sweep you with quick action, as Harry struggles to regain the sure footing she's used to. In contrast, the following chapters will be a grounding experience, answering many questions as Harry and you both get a better idea of what's going on. I'm already looking forward to it!</p><p>If you're binging this story, this is a good spot to take a break and make a cup of tea or a snack.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Uncharted Waters: Bard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We would almost double the price if we raised it as you suggest,” Bard objected as he marched on the ramparts of Dale’s innermost walls. </p><p>Sigrid easily matched his long strides, well used to their councils taking place out on the streets rather than in the confines of his office. “Yes, it would be almost double of this year’s rate. But we haven’t had a single merchant complain about our licence as of yet, which tells you we’re not charging even nearly enough for it.”</p><p>“What if they refused to pay? What use would a market without its merchants be?”</p><p>“It won’t come to that. Erebor charges three times what we currently do, and yet, it hasn’t turned a single merchant away from her Gates.”</p><p>“Yes, but that’s <em> Erebor</em>. The Great Dwarven Kingdom with her fabled craftsmen.”</p><p>“Aye. And this is <em> Dale</em>. The Great Northmen City that enables trading with the fearsome and inhospitable Dwarves.” </p><p>Bard had to pause at the pride he heard in Sigrid’s voice, his eyes unwittingly sweeping over the streets beneath the city walls he and Sigrid were walking on. Yes, this was indeed Dale, he repeated, the same pride sneaking into his own thoughts.</p><p>This late into autumn, the city was preparing for an influx of farmer’s hands, returning home for the winter. The harvest had finished, and young lads and lasses would be leaving the farmsteads that had hired them for the year, travelling back from as far as the Redwater River. </p><p>High on the battlements, Bard stood level with the roofs and the attics. He now saw parents airing out their children’s rooms, which had stayed closed for long months. Innkeepers were also opening their windows, cleaning out even their storage rooms and cupboards that would once again serve as bedrooms for the lone labourers. </p><p>Inwardly, Bard sighed in preemptive exasperation, knowing by now how turbulent the first few weeks of winter always were, what with the youth coming back home with fresh coins in their pockets.</p><p>A flicker of grey wings caught his attention and his eyes flashed to trace the movement with the same wistfulness they always did. They found only a pigeon, gliding around the bell tower, and Bard berated himself and his old heart for always jumping this quickly after every sliver of grey in the skies.</p><p>“All right,” he forcefully returned his mind to the conversation. “Go ahead with the new rate. But only for the craftsmen─we can ill afford to chase away the farmers.”</p><p>Sigrid frowned; he needn’t turn to see it, he could hear it clearly in her next words. “That would create double standards─a system no one would be thankful for.”</p><p>Bard sighed out loud this time. “All right. New licence rate for everyone, then. But tell the farmers they can pay in instances, if they should struggle to pay at once.”</p><p>Sigrid was still frowning when she answered, “I’ll put together a precise proposal for tomorrow.”</p><p>Without hesitation, she headed for the next flight of stairs leading down to the streets, knowing his usual route rather well. With a last glance at the grey pigeon, he followed. Behind his back, he could hear the clatter of armor as Einar and Apsel, his two guards for this afternoon, traced their path at a respectable distance. </p><p>“Thank you,” Bard remembered to say. “Has anyone asked to see me today?”</p><p>“Inge was most adamant to talk to you. Said it was urgent,” Sigrid quickly supplied.</p><p>Bard felt his eyebrows rise in surprise at the unusual request. He couldn’t remember when he’d last spoken to the herbalist. “Well, let’s head there right away.”</p><p>Inge’s shop wasn’t far from his daily route, and they reached it in a few moments. </p><p>“Oh, Bard. Just the man I needed to see today,” Inge called when Bard and Sigrid walked in, leaving the guards outside. “And good to see you too, Sigrid. <em> Bard </em>- I’m running low on laserwort─moths got through almost all of my storage of the dried herb. They really couldn’t have picked a more unfortunate moment.”</p><p>She said the last bit with great solemnity that left Bard staring at the weathered woman in incomprehension, whilst behind him, Sigrid snickered rather knowingly.</p><p>Content with the fact that at least one of them understood the situation, Bard moved to the point. “How can I help, Inge?”</p><p>“I need some of your men to scavenge the forests for any alternatives. It’s too late in the year for anything growing so we’ll have to search for the roots.”</p><p>Bard frowned. “I know Eryka’s two girls are already helping you with the gathering. Aren’t they enough?”</p><p>“<em>Enough</em>? Now, when a horde of randy youths is already descending on the city? I’d hate to say to the lasses I’m out of stock when they come in all nervous and guilty looking.”</p><p>“It’s a contraceptive, Da,” Sigrid piped in, cheeks blushed but eyes grinning, rushing Bard the rest of the way to the understanding that had already been downing on him.</p><p>“Right-” he barked out, flustered at the sudden turn his day had taken, in front of his daughter no less. “I can spare six men for this… expedition. How long would it take then?”</p><p>“At least two days in the woods,” Inge said after a short pause.</p><p>“Right,” Bard repeated. “I’ll make sure they have the right provisions. Sigrid, would you-”</p><p>“I’ll have it done, Da,” his daughter said, her voice still snickering at his obvious discomfort, giggling like the little girl she hadn’t been for a while now.</p><p>They split up after leaving Inge’s shop; Sigrid rushed back home to carry out the herbalist’s orders, whilst Bard and his guards turned to finish his rounds, heading first for the vegetable market.</p><p>By now, Bard had perfected the appropriate pace─brisk enough to discourage idle chat, but not too fast to seem unapproachable by neighbours who did have an issue to pick up with him. This afternoon, not many had, and they’d managed to walk through both of the main market squares before the rain chased them out off the streets and into Kallan’s inn for an early dinner. </p><p>There, he was left open for a barrage of questions from the pub’s other dwellers, but Bard bore their shouts with a polite face, reminding himself he would rather have their continued rudeness than any sudden deference.</p><p>“When will the sewers be ready?” </p><p>“The moment we find a safe way to excavate the hard rock all our homes are built on, Master Grenflick.”</p><p>“And the well in the smiths' district? It’s been flooded with mud for weeks now!”</p><p>“Haven’t heard of any mudded wells, but be sure to bring it up with Jarl, and I’ll check with him whether it’s done.”</p><p>“How about getting married again, eh, my lord? My sister’s been a widow for too long if you ask me; started nabbing into my business.”</p><p>“Is she even half as cheeky as you are, good sir? Because if so, maybe I should better give her a wide berth,” Bard retorted with smoothness born out of practice, his tankard raised in salute towards the man to soften the jab. The fisherman roared in laughter, enjoying the attention, and Bard finally returned to his half-full plate. Einar and Apsel had long finished their dinners, now nursing an ale each. </p><p>A minute later, someone once again approached their table. He felt his guards straightened up in their seats but they did not reach for their hilts. Not a threat, then. Still hungry, Bard decided he wouldn’t glance up until he finished his mouthful. He savoured the fish with perhaps a bit of a piqued deliberation, when a familiar voice made him pause.</p><p>“May I join you?”</p><p>Bard’s head whipped up to look at the speaker, but the sight that greeted him was all wrong and quickly smothered the hope that had flared up in his chest. For once, the stranger was a woman; freshly out of the pouring rain it seemed, as she only now went to take off her soaked cloak. She dropped the grey cloth from her head and shoulders, and Bard’s eyes followed as it settled around her hips, as a second layer to her strange skirts. Though long enough to reach her ankles at the back, they were rolled up almost to her belt in the front, showing her entire legs, clad in leather breeches. </p><p>He blinked at the peculiar attire, unused to the sight of a woman in trousers perhaps, but more so confused by the cut of it. He had seen his share of elleths dressed for travel, and probably even dwarrowdams, yet this woman’s clothing did not resemble the slit riding gowns nor the long vests of the Woodland guards, or any other garments Bard had seen females don when the need for practicality struck. Only then did he notice a stranger sight still─a dagger adorned her hip, and another lay across her back, secured over her chest in the style of the Wood-elves.</p><p>Realising he had gone too long without speaking, he hastily swallowed his bite and beckoned to the empty chair across from him. “Have you travelled from afar?” he asked even as his eyes swept up and quickly took in the rest of the young woman─a mane of black hair, a lock of it braided strangely across her forehead, bright green eyes and face that was eerily familiar with its foreign features, and yet all wrong. </p><p>The woman smiled, her face brightening in a familiar way that unsettled Bard further. She leaned closer over the table, voice lowered so even Bard’s guards, who didn’t even pretend not to listen, couldn’t hear. “Well, it seems I’ve passed the first test,” she whispered, and bestowed another beaming smile at Bard. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”</p><p>Bard reeled back as if struck. </p><p>His thoughts came to a sudden halt even as his mouth, against the sight his eyes were given and his common sense, breathed out the name chiming through his mind. “Harry?”</p><p>The woman’s smile grew wider. </p><p>Bard leaned towards her, bowing low over the table. “Is this a trick? An illusion?”</p><p>“No,” she whispered back. “This is all me.”</p><p>“You mean-” he faltered, his mind failing to grasp such a possibility. “You mean, you’ve always been a-”</p><p>“A woman? Of course.”</p><p>Bard blinked at the lass, mind blank and too full at the same time. Opposite him, very close in their whispered conversation, Harry’s eyes were shining brightly, entirely too amused. He- <em> she </em>was enjoying this. </p><p>“Why would you-” Bard started only to fall silent, as a mug of ale landed on the table in between them with a loud <em> thump</em>. He looked up at the face of a serving girl, one of Kallan’s nieces whose name now escaped him, as she hovered over their bowed heads, her curious eyes taking in the strange sight Harry presented. Suddenly, Bard became aware of the rest of their attentive audience, feeling the gazes of not only Einar and Apsel at their table, but the fleeting eye or two from the rest of the tavern.</p><p>“Will the miss be having food, as well?” the maid asked, looking at Bard for an answer.</p><p>“Yes,” Harry cut in. “She’d like the trout they had.”</p><p>The girl hesitated, glancing back at Bard who only raised his brows, knowing Harry had spoken clearly enough. The lass finally nodded and scuttered back into the kitchens, throwing them one last look over her shoulders.</p><p>“You don’t normally get this quick a service during dinner time,” Einar muttered into his beard with a low chuckle.</p><p>“Einar,” Bard barked then, making a swift decision, “ask Kallan for a room. Have them bring the fish there.”</p><p>“Right away, sir,” the guard quipped back with a cheerful nod as he jumped up to his feet and headed for the counter.</p><p>Harry snickered at the guard’s badly hidden enthusiasm. “You know how this will look, don’t  you?”</p><p>Of course Bard did, but he couldn’t care less. Then he paused, casting a careful look at her face. If his friend was indeed a lady, as she queerly but truly appeared to be, then she did have a reputation to protect and Bard wouldn’t be the one to tarnish it. “You are right, we should rather brave the rain and go to my office.”</p><p>She laughed at that, as openly as Harry always had. “I think it might be a bit too late for that. At ease, my friend─if I cared even a little bit about what people say, I wouldn’t have approached you in public in the first place.”</p><p>Bard saw the truth of it in her grinning eyes, and knew she was having entirely too much fun at his flustered state. Decision made, he rose to his feet and beckoned her towards the stairs, where Einar was already waiting, rocking on his heels and wiggling a set of keys on his fingers. </p><p>Bard quickly grabbed for them, but instead of just taking the keys, he grasped the guard’s hand and held it tightly. “I tolerate your teasing even if you question my honour by your jests. But she’s a dear friend and I won’t have you show her such disrespect.”</p><p>Bard didn’t often deem it necessary to scold his men, as they were good men and usually tried their hardest. He noticed with grim satisfaction that his rare rebuke was perhaps more powerful for it, as he watched Einar’s mirth swiftly disappear and his face flood red in shame.   </p><p>“The next ale’s still on me but you’re on your own after that,” Bard added in a gentler tone before climbing the stairs to where Harry waited, poised over the railing as she watched the exchange.</p><p>Once the door of their room closed behind his back, Bard found himself standing awkwardly in front of it, not braving another step in, at a loss at how to welcome his returned friend properly, now that he could. </p><p>Harry took mercy on him, stepping close and embracing him tightly with the same casual disregard to conventional boundaries she had displayed before, as a lad. Bard returned the hug, enfolding her in his arms after only a beat of awkward hesitation. </p><p>Embracing this version of Harry was very much unlike it had ever felt to hug his friend before. Where Harry’s clothes had always been baggy and many-layered, her bodice now hugged her shape closely. As tightly as she now held him, he had it further confirmed that his eyes were not deceiving him. </p><p>When she released him, Bard made one flustered step back. “Why?”</p><p>“Why didn’t I tell you?” she supplied.</p><p>“Why did you pretend in the first place?”</p><p>She nodded but then stayed silent whilst she cast her eyes around the chamber they found themselves in. She approached the cold fireplace and sat on one of the chairs in front of it. Without a gesture or a word, flames sprung up from the prepared kindling. The stacked logs quickly caught on fire, too, and before Bard crossed the distance to the second chair, a roaring fire lightened up the otherwise gloomy bedroom. Harry had unclasped the dagger from her back, dropping it carelessly on the floor and settling deeper into her chair with a content sigh just as Bard sagged into his.</p><p>“It will sound strange to your ears, but in pretending to be a man, I was allowed to act more like myself,” Harry finally started. “I’d watched these lands for weeks as a peregrine before I felt ready to enter Lake-town on two feet. I’d seen that women here were not afforded the same freedoms to which I’m used to from back home. I knew that should I arrive as I was back then, alone, with very little knowledge of the local language or customs, I’d be watched more closely if I were a lass on top of all of that. I didn’t wish for such scrutiny, even if it would come with the best of intentions. So I cut my hair, bound my chest and wore trousers.”</p><p>Harry was right, it did sound strange. To dress as a man to be free to act more as her female self? Bard could easier understand if she had disguised herself for safety, he had heard of female travellers to do so, and yet she hadn’t mentioned such reasons. He was ready to trust her words though, and frowned in his efforts to comprehend their meaning.  </p><p>But instead, hurt seeped through his lingering shock, as it now became clear she had not awarded him the same level of trust he blindly extended to her. “I wouldn’t have betrayed your secret,” he argued.</p><p>Her smile turned rueful. “It wasn’t for a lack of trust that I didn’t reveal the truth to you earlier,” she said softly. “It was just a matter of what was necessary and what was not. I’m trained to tread with caution when on an assignment, and that’s how I viewed my stay in Lake-town. Even though I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t risk you treating me differently for it. I attracted enough attention as it was.” </p><p>She reached her hand over the distance between their two chairs. “I am sorry for deceiving you, though,” she said, clasping his forearm gently. “For what it’s worth, my only lie was in letting you address me as a man. I didn’t pretend anything else.”</p><p>This time, he didn’t let himself trust her words as unquestionably as his heart still seemed ready to do. Perhaps it was out of petulance, but the fact remained that she <em> had </em> lied and he had no way to learn what was pretense and what was her real self, other than by observing her.</p><p>He didn’t voice his grim thoughts, though. Instead, he stared at her fingers as they let go of his sleeve and withdrew back to her armrest, thinking about the reasons she gave. “I wouldn’t have treated you differently,” he argued. “You have earned my respect as my friend and as a warrior, too.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, her cheerful smile slowly returning, though there also seemed to be steel in her tone when she spoke next. “Afterall, you’ll now have a chance to prove your words. I won’t have you treat me differently now either.”</p><p>Her previous remorse was gone, and Bard received a keen reminder that this was still the same being that had ruthlessly commanded him to take the credit for killing Smaug and to lead the roofless Lake-people into Dale. No matter what face she wore, be it one of a lad or lass, the fierce determination still seemed to lie beneath it.</p><p>“Does this mean you no longer have the same concerns?” he asked, partly distracted as she started squirming in her chair as if in discomfort. “That you have returned to Dale as your true self.” </p><p>She got to her feet and waved her hand over the side of her skirts. Bard watched in fascination as steam rose from her soaked cloak-skirts. No, not steam, he corrected himself as he squinted his eyes further at the wet cloud, realising it was more dew like than steam, tiny droplets leaving the fabric of her coat and flying through the air as Harry directed them to spill into a nearby pitcher. </p><p>“Now, I’m finally fluent enough to tell everyone to mind their own business,” Harry said as if such a show of power was a natural part of any conversation. </p><p>He shook off his amazement and searched back in his memory for what his question had been. </p><p>“You have improved considerably,” he confirmed and meant it─all her previous clumsiness was gone from her speech, the hesitation that used to precede her sentences no longer present, although a soft accent remained. </p><p>“Well, thank you. It has been six years, though,” she turned to him then, dropping her chin as in apology for the long absence. It wasn’t necessary─he did not hold it against her; how could he, if he half expected her never to return? However, there was a part of him, his more selfish side, that was gratified to see they were perhaps as sorely missed as the family had missed and worried about Harry.</p><p>“More importantly though, I couldn’t very well return as the same boy. He picked up too many tails,” Harry spoke again and Bard nodded, knowing it to be the truth. “I’ve done my best to appear as far from a dimwitted brat as possible,” she added and Bard’s eyes took in the invitation before he could restrain them, rowing down the slope of her neck where, from this angle, her open collar offered a generous view even to the top of her underpinnings. He quickly looked away but by the sound of her chuckle, it wasn’t quick enough. </p><p>A knock interrupted their conversation then. Harry called to let the maid enter. As the girl busied herself by setting Harry’s dinner by her chair, Bard sat staring into the fire, feeling his features scrunched up into a scowl.</p><p>This new teasing side of her unsettled Bard more than the knowledge he had Harry wrongly pinned for a man this whole time. He knew how to treat his friend, the good-hearted lad who Bard had quickly adopted into his family. He didn’t know how to act around this lass who was as comfortable around him as only Sigrid and Tilda were, and yet behaved not at all like his daughters.</p><p>Once the maid left, he cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Your eyes look different.”</p><p>She took a bite of her fish before she replied, “That would be the kohl.” When he frowned at her in confusion, she pointed at the black line painted over her eyelids. “I saw some of the Haradrim wear it, so I let myself get inspired. Mind you, it’s mostly their men that do so.”</p><p>He felt his brows rising at her claim to have travelled as far south as the Harad. He squashed his curiosity, though─there would be time to inquire about her travels later.</p><p>“You are taller, too.”</p><p>“Only by an inch or two,” she said, raising one of her feet and wiggling it in front of the fire. The boots she was wearing had strangely raised heels. “The rest is just your perception. People are more forgiving of a short stature when it comes to women than men, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“And the braid─is it to cover your scar?” he asked, vaguely remembering that distinguishing feature, now hidden by the strand of hair braided across her forehead and crowning her head. </p><p>“Yes. I plan to pronounce it the way of my tribe, as there’s no one to know better.”</p><p>He grumbled in agreement. “It’s a clever disguise, for its simplicity. And yet, you still wear the same features and speak with the same voice. Furthermore, you’re too similar in your unusual ways to Harry. People will make the connection.”</p><p>“Let them. I thought I’d pose as his kin. Probably as close as a sister─you are right, the similarities are too striking to claim anything less.”</p><p>He frowned at the suggestion. “That is a rather far-fetched idea. A sister following in her brother’s footsteps is too fanciful and strange a story to not appear suspicious.” </p><p>“How can anyone know what’s fanciful and strange for the Easterlings?”</p><p>“But you won’t be judged by the standards of the Easterlings.”</p><p>“Well, all the better for it, then. If people find it so unlikely that a woman would live and travel on her own, how could they ever accept that a woman accosted the King of Dwarves or halted an army of orcs?”</p><p>When he continued to scowl, she heaved an exasperated sigh and then spread her arms wide, putting her chest up again. “Look at me Bard- I <em> am </em> too strange, and I always will be for this world. But I no longer intend to hide it. What strangeness do you think people will find easier to believe─that the Easterling thief has an equally strange sister, or that he was a woman all along?”</p><p>Bard paused, contemplating all she’d just said. “You’ve never been a thief,” he pointed out in the end, the defence springing to his lips as was the habit now.</p><p>Harry smiled at him, kindly. “I’m afraid I’ve become one now. But that’s a tale for another day.”</p><p>Bard felt his eyebrows rising at such an answer. Harry spoke again before he could press her for more, though. “How about tomorrow? I remember I’d promised to give you the tale of my home, back before I left Dale.”</p><p>“I’ll make the time to listen,” Bard vowed. </p><p>“I’d start tonight but I’m afraid the bed over there looks too enticing,” Harry inclined her head over Bard’s shoulder, meeting his eyes shortly with an amused glint in hers. “I haven’t slept on a mattress in weeks. Tomorrow, perhaps we could ride out of the city together? I left most of my belongings behind, hidden in the hills a few miles from the city. We could go fetch it.”</p><p>Bard nodded. “We’ll ride right after breakfast. Before then, though─I’d prefer you’d come home with me, take your lodgings at our house.”</p><p>“Afraid of leaving the lady alone in an inn full of drunkards?” she asked briskly, and there was a challenge in her eyes.</p><p>He met it with a flat glare, unappreciative of her accusation─he had done nothing to deserve such assumptions. “I’m offering you the home I promised you’ll always have in my house. And the girls would surely like to see you first thing in the morning.”</p><p>She let out a long sigh before she spoke again. “I haven’t been travelling as a woman for too long, just a few weeks, and I’m mad at myself for how badly I've been dealing with it. I might be a touch sour about the whole thing.” She rose to her feet. “Let’s go home, then.” </p><p>He stood up but didn’t follow after her to the door just yet. “What should I call you now?”</p><p>“My name’s Harry, always been. Feel free to carry on calling me that. But perhaps not where others can hear. I’m using Hattie for that purpose.”</p><p>“<em>Hattie</em>,” he repeated the strange name, as foreign as <em> Harry </em> once sounded. “Why Hattie?”</p><p>“It’s what my parents called me.”</p><p>When he frowned at her in confusion, she relented to explain only with a great sigh of exasperation. “When we were little, my cousin couldn’t pronounce my full name, so he shortened it to Harry, and it stuck. Later, I met a whole bunch of people who knew me as Hattie and I’ve learnt to answer to that name, too. I’d always prefer being just Harry, though.”</p><p>“What is your full name, then?”</p><p>She grimaced, as if he was forcing a great secret out of her. “<em>Harriet</em>. But don’t you go using it if you still want to call yourself my friend.”</p><p>When Harry had stayed at his home last time, Bard had learnt to distinguish between the threats she meant to carry out, and the more frequent ones, devoid of true intent. He noted with some satisfaction that he hadn’t lost the ability even after all these years, as he was now <em> almost </em> sure that was an empty one.</p>
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          <p>Small clarification─I believe Harriet is a beautiful name. In this AU though, it would be mainly Petunia and Vernon, and the likes of Umbridge, who would insist on calling Harry her full name, thus Harry’s dislike of it.</p><p>I’ll continue to write up ahead into the second arc and take a break from posting until a larger part is written, but I decided to offer this sneak peek so you’d get an idea of the direction we’re taking. If you were looking forward to reading about Harry’s travels, I’m sorry to disappoint. There’ll be allusions and explanations but describing them in detail would be a hefty investment of words, too hefty when I’m trying to keep tight to the plot here. Instead, let’s explore how much distance Harry has put in between her fumbling in the first arc and her current self.</p><p>Now, for today’s rec: I’m surprised it took me fifteen chapters to finally mention this fic, as it is such an obvious source of inspiration. I read it many years ago, back when I still scoffed at the idea of a fem!Harry. Funny, how quickly your preferences get pushed aside in the face of a well-written story. </p><p>  <em><a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9860311/1/A-Long-Journey-Home">A Long Journey Home</a> by Rakeesh</em></p><p>There are many similarities to be found here (though just as many differences). Both <em>ALJH</em> and <em>Dreamers</em> have an older and (hopefully) competent fem!Harry, plowing her path through historical settings and society. However, my favourite part of Rakeesh’s story is the chapter 'Close Encounters'. When I wrote the interlude with Gandalf chasing after Harry across Middle-earth, I got reminded of Rakeesh’s Dumbledore searching for Harry/Morgana. The chapter where he unknowingly spends an afternoon with her, thinking her a mere Muggle, still puts a smile on my face every time I think of it, even though I barely remember any details.</p>
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